


Dragon Age: Torchwood Clips

by Bloodsong



Category: Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening, Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Humor, Multi, Snark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-05-15 00:26:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5764699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodsong/pseuds/Bloodsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short stories for my Dragon Age: Torchwood crossover. (Posted on FFnet.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wild, Wild Torchwood

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> This is a totally made-up nonsensical interlude that is completely ripped off from my favorite scene from "Wild Wild West." Why? Cuz it's funny!  
>  Bannon is my city elf character from Dragon Age, who got dumped through the Rift and got stuck working for Torchwood.

  
     Jack gasped and sat up, his hand going to his throat.  There was some huge metal collar around his neck.  "What the hell?"  He looked around at the dusty verge at edge of the cornfield.  No one else was here, except Bannon, who was busy trying to pry off his own collar.  Jack levered himself to his feet.  "Where is everyone?"

     "He took them."

     "Well we can't sit around here all day!"

     "We're trapped inside this circle"

     Jack looked at the dusty ground.  There was a line drawn in it, in a circle around them.  And that's all there was.  "What, this?"

     "Don't cross the line!" the elf insisted.

     "This?  This is what has us trapped here?"  It looked like some kid with a stick had made it!  Jack scuffed it with one boot.  "Oh, look, I dug us a tunnel out of this prison."

     "Don't--!"

     Jack stepped over the stupid line.  "Now I am escaping.  This was some prison."  He turned and glared at the useless elf.

     Then his collar started beeping.  Something rumbled behind him, shaking the ground.  He looked back to see a door slide open in the earth, pebbles and sand drifting into the black rectangular hole.  A flat-barreled cannon rose out of it and swiveled to target him.  It revved like a rail gun preparing to launch a projectile.

     "You know, maybe we should ru-- Bannon?"  Jack turned, but there was nothing but an elf-shaped gap in the cornrows.  "Oh, shit!"  He tore off after the elf.  

     Something whistled through the air behind them, gaining rapidly.  There was a wet buzzing as cornstalks were sheared off.  Jack dared a glance over his shoulder.  Two manhole-cover-sized metal disks were flying after them.  His collar beeped faster.  "Duck!"  He followed his own advice and one of the disks flashed over his head.  He heard the other one behind him, cutting low.  He dove to the dirt, face-first.  "Do you have to be so short?" he yelled in complaint.

     Bannon scrambled to his feet and cocked an ear.  "Shut up.  They're coming back."

     "They're homing in on us!"

     "Split up!"

     The captain and the elf broke and ran in opposite directions.  This was not helping.  At least the things weren't silent, and the beeping in his collar warned him when they were close.  Jack ducked and switched directions again.

     He skidded to a halt when he found himself on the edge of a steep ravine.  He saw green stalks flying up on the other side.  "Bannon!  Over here!  This way!"   He glanced back, trying to figure out how many seconds he had.

     His attention was drawn back by a shout.  The elf almost pitched into the ravine.  "What the hell?"

     "Quick, leap into my arms!"

     "Are you out of your fucking shem mind!?"

     "They'll collide; just do as I say!  On three..."   Jack hoped he had the timing down right.  He counted to three and leapt across the ravine.  Bannon gamely jumped out towards him.  They collided in mid air; Jack had aimed a little low, so he caught the elf's chest in his face.

     They plummeted together and landed in a sluggish river of mud with a mighty SPLUT.  The two disks collided and fragmented in a small explosion.  A huge chunk fell and cracked Bannon over the head.  "Ow, dammit!"

     "Well, that's what you get for landing on top."  
  
  


 

  
     They managed to get out of the mud and found a dry, rocky gully.  They trudged along beside the low river, hoping there was a way out sooner rather than later.  They still had to figure out how to catch up and rescue the others.  If the others weren't already on their way to rescue them.

     Jack was caked in mud up to his eyebrows.  He'd managed to clear most of it off his face, though his cheeks bore long diagonal streaks.  His coat was soaked through and had dried in the hot sun until it seemed to be made of stiff cardboard.

     Bannon had doggedly kept his top spot in the muddy river and had used Jack to climb out of the muck, so his head and shoulders were clear, except for the crimson streak of blood down the left side of his face.  The lower half of his long hair was clumped into muddy dreds.

     Jack looked over at him.  "So what's your plan for getting this thing off my neck?"

     "Excuse me?"

     "You know, that's why I keep you around.   Since you're the Master of this Escape Artist stuff."

     Bannon stopped and turned to face him.  "Oh?  Now I'm the 'Master of this Escape Artist Stuff'?  As opposed to five minutes ago, when I was calmly and rationally trying to figure out how to spring these things, but then, oh, I don't know, something happened... somebody, some poor, sad, idiotic fool who shall remain nameless--"  and here, he belted out Jack's name until it echoed off the ravine walls: "JACK HARKNESS....!  --just didn't listen to me, and he went tippy-toe, dancey-dance over the line I told him specifically _not to_ , which precipitated our vigorous romp through the Cornfield of Doom, ending in the death-defying leap into the Pit of Infernal Muck!"

     Jack scratched his nose for a second.  "You know, I think you need to calm down."

     "No!"  Bannon flapped his arms emphatically.  "I can't calm down!  Because I'm the Master of this Escape Artist Stuff!  And I have to help you!  You-- the Master of the _Stupid_ Stuff!"  He cast about a moment, looking for any type of helpful tool.  "I-- Well, I can't shoot this thing off you, because I don't have a gun!  And I don't have my knives, so I can't whack your head off and pull the collar off your neck; that would have worked fine!"  He twisted and pounced on a brick-sized rock.  He lifted it beside his head.  "Here we go, I'll just bash it with a rock!"

     Jack held up his hands.  "You really don't want to do that."

     "Oh, _yes I do!_ "

     Jack tried to backpedal, but the elf leapt at him and smashed him in the neck with the rock.  The projecting lip of the collar sheared the stone in half, and the metal rang with a mellow tone.  Jack flinched as a chunk of rock bounced off his head, then suddenly, Bannon jumped up against him.  The collars clashed together with a dual metal clang.  "What the hell are you doing?"  Jack backed up further, but the elf was stuck to him.

     "What did you do?" Bannon demanded, face reddening.

     "I didn't do shit!"  The elf was so much shorter than he, that his feet weren't even touching the ground.  Jack kept dancing around, off balance, until he leaned forward and bent his knees, so the elf's toes at least could touch down.  "You're attracted to me."

     "The hell!"

     "Look, you dumbass, you hit my collar and reversed the polarity of the magnets, and now we're stuck together!"

     The elf's eyes flew wide, and he actually shut up for a second.  He looked up at Jack in trepidation.  "That had better be part of your coat poking me!"  He shoved against Jack's stomach, and the captain shoved him back, but they were stuck fast at the neck.

     "Wait a minute," Jack insisted, grabbing the elf until he stood still.  "Look.  Get your knee up between us and push off."

     Bannon's eyes narrowed.

     "Don't you even--!"

      _SCHRUNCH!_

     "AUGH!"  Jack's legs buckled as the elf brought his knee up alright.  "You son of a...," he managed to squeak out.

     "Oops," Bannon said, completely unapologetically.  The elf wriggled until he got his right leg folded up between their bodies.  He tried to straighten it, while Jack pushed against his shoulders.  Little by little, the magnetized collars separated.  Jack shoved a hand between them, hoping he didn't lose any fingers.

     With one last heave, the two men managed to fling themselves apart.  Bannon fell on his backside in the dust.  Jack swayed backwards, caught himself, then overcompensated.  He pitched forward, his head dragged straight to the elf's midriff.  His collar clanged against Bannon's hip as he fell between the elf's legs.

     "AOW!"  It was the elf's turn to groan in agony.

     "Sorry," Jack lied unconvincingly.  He tried to get up, but found his neck stuck to the elf's pelvis.  "Who," he complained, "has a steel belt buckle?  You couldn't just have brass, like everybody else?"

     "I do have a belt knife hidden there," Bannon grated, still wincing.  "It's a push-knife built into the buckle."

     "Well, great."  Jack fumbled under the collar to try to reach it.  "Hold still, I'm going to unbuckle your belt, then I think I can get away from you.  I hope," he grumbled.

     "Will you watch where you're putting your hands!"

     "Don't get excited."

     "Trust me, captain; getting fondled by you is hardly enough to get me excited."

     "Well, we don't have time for anything else."  Jack leered a moment just to annoy the elf.  Then he grimaced, trying to get the tongue to come loose from the prong.  "It's stiff," he complained.  "The leather, I mean."

     "Jack... when we get back to the Hub and we're telling this story... leave this part out, wouldya?"

     "Hah!  I might just have to hold it in reserve against your good behavior."  With some more cursing, and the captain got the belt to come free from Bannon's pants.

     "Give me the knife," the elf said.  "We can use it to cut off your head."

     "You're not cutting my head off with a push-knife!"

     "Why not?"

     "Because!  Besides, it's thoroughly stuck to my neck."  Jack stood up, careful to back away from the elf.  The belt dangled from the collar like a bizarre couture necktie.  "Now get up, and don't get too close to me."

     Muttering and grumbling, the elf did so.  They stumbled a little further along the riverbank.  "Oh, look," Bannon said, pointing into the mud a couple yards away; "there's my spare toolkit.  It must've fallen out of my pocket."  He looked around.  "Find some stick or something to reach it with."

     Jack edged a bit closer.  "What about that?" he said, pointing across the elf's line of sight, more towards the river.

     "What?"  Bannon turned, and Jack-- careful not to get his head or neck anywhere too close-- planted a boot in his backside.  He kicked out and launched the elf into the mud.  "AIAGH--glack!"  He shouldn't have had his mouth open when he hit.  Bannon reared back, sputtering and spitting out muck.

     "Can you reach it now?" Jack asked him mildly.

     "You sonofabitch!"

     "Well, can you?"

     In fact, he could.  Bannon grabbed his kit and slogged back out of the mud, muttering imprecations.  Now he was properly mud-packed from head to toe, and Jack could feel smug that he'd come out marginally cleaner.  Even if the margin was so slim as to barely exist.

 

 


	2. Things Never to Say to Your Boss When You Work for Torchwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title pretty much says it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> Another attempt to avoid the plague of Marysuism (is that now a word?). And to stop Jack whining that Bannon always gets the last word in. Um... yeah, so I didn't mean for part 3 and 4 to happen. Sorry, clever elves, you know. But that's okay, because sequels happened! Enjoy.

**Things Never to Say to Your Boss when You Work for Torchwood**

  
  
**1.**  
     Jack stood at the head of the conference table, gripping the chair back before him.  Tosh's marked area map glowed over his shoulder.  "Gwen, you'll go 'finesse' the police; make sure we've got all their reports.  We don't know how fast this thing spreads, so Ianto, Owen, Tosh; you're on neighborhood canvas duty."  Gwen nodded, the others showed various degrees of annoyance with their legwork, especially Owen.

     "You two," Jack said, lifting his chin at the elves, "are sanitation workers."

     They groaned, and Zevran said, "Why is it we are always the slaves?  Never the rich, noble bastards."

     "Because you're short," Jack cut them off.  "And you can maneuver better in the sewers."

     "Why do we have to--?" Bannon started

     "You do what I tell you, and you don't argue.  Now keep your mouth shut until after the briefing."  Jack turned to the map display to outline his deployment strategy.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bannon reaching for his phone.  If those two started texting, he was going to discipline them, like the naughty schoolchildren they were.

     A moment later, his phone blipped with an incoming message.  Jack ignored it until after he finished the briefing.  As his loyal troops were filing out to get to work, he glanced down at the two succinct words on the screen: 'U suck.'

     He looked across the table, meeting Bannon's eyes.  "Yes."  He let a smile spread across his face.  "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.  And I'm _really_ good at it.  You want to get some?"  He smiled all the more toothily and was rewarded when Bannon's face reddened.  The elf turned away and left hurriedly, apparently having no further comment.

     God, he was a pain in the ass.  
  


 

  
  
 **2.**  
     Jack kept his hands unclenched upon the desk, his voice even and steady.  "We are not opening the Rift," he told the glowering elf standing in his office.  "It's far too dangerous without precise calculations."

     "How is Toshiko supposed to get anywhere with it, if she can't experiment?" Bannon argued.  

     "She needs to finish the Rift predictor program."

     "What about sending us back?"

     "That's not a priority."

     "Yeah, for you," the elf said bitterly.

     "Torchwood's number one priority is protecting the citizens of this planet," Jack reminded him with an edge to his voice.

     "And your number two priority is getting free elven labor, is that it?"

     "Hardly," Jack said dryly.  "And your expenses in no way qualify as 'free.'  But hey, if you want to try your hand at flipping burgers and mopping floors, I'm sure you could manage to qualify for that job."

     Bannon's expression darkened.  Clearly, he didn't appreciate the captain's humor.  "Fuck you, Jack!"  He turned and stalked out the door.

     A snarl wrinkled Jack's lips as he pushed himself up from the desk.  Swiftly, he moved around it and caught the door before it swung fully closed.  He shoved it open and leaned out to yell at the retreating elf.  "Hey, any time!  But you keep telling me I'm not your type!"

     Bannon whirled around, his face suffusing with anger.  Everyone else in the Hub had fallen silent; Ianto at his coffee machine, Gwen and Owen standing by the couch, Zevran lounging on it, Tosh peering up from her workstation.

     The silence was broken by a strangled little giggle.  Slowly, Bannon turned towards the assassin.  "Are you snickering at me?" he asked in a deadly tone.

     Zevran had cut off the noise by expeditiously sucking his lips into his mouth.  Now he relaxed.  "Well...," he drawled, leaning back with casual abandon; "I believe the only correct answer to that inquiry is--"  In a flash, he launched himself off the couch and down the spiral stairs.

     With a growl, Bannon pursued.

     Zevran vaulted the rail two-thirds of the way down, hit the floor in a roll, and scarpered across the open area.  Bannon seized the handrails like parallel bars and swung himself down.  By the time he got to the floor, Zevran was dashing up the steps to the concrete overlook.  Bannon bent and scooped up the basketball.  He hurled it full force at the assassin, who ducked at the last moment, causing the ball to bounce off the painted dragon's nose.

     "Ha-ha!" Zevran crowed.  "Another Archdemon slain!"

     With an invective, Bannon continued pursuit of the blond elf around through the Hub.

     Jack sighed in exasperation and shook his head.  Those two were a pain in the ass.  
  


 

  
  
 **3.**  
     "...an old pork chop, slathered with strawberry jam ought to work," Jack was saying, swiftly outlining the plan to his colleagues around the conference table.  "If not, we can try baiting it with one of our luscious, juicy elves."  He grinned flirtatiously at them.

     Zevran smirked.  Bannon, of course, snarled.  "Drop dead, Harkness."

     "Already have done."

     "Encore."

     Pain in the ass elves.  
  
  


 

  
 **4.**  
     "You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?" Jack told Bannon an hour or so later as they heaved the Traxodont's limp body into the trunk of the SUV.

     "It worked, didn't it?"

     "You ruined another one of my coats!"

     "It's just jam," the elf grated as he folded the last of the beast's six limbs into the truck.  "Besides, you smell more like an old pork chop than I do."

     "You're still a pain in the ass," Jack argued, trying to dust off his sticky hands.

     "Gee, that's tempting," Bannon said, looking far too sincere.  Then he spat, "But you're still not my type!"  He turned and disappeared around the passenger side of the SUV.

     Jack growled, and made his way to the driver's side, still trying to wipe off his hands.  Damned elves.  Smartass elves.  That's what they were.  It's a good thing they came in handy in tight places and dangerous fights.  
  
  
  


 

**Things Never to Say to Your Elven Employees when You are the Boss at Torchwood**

  
  
  
     Jack moved quickly along the edge of the rooftop, his Webley held low in a straight-armed shooting grip.  He scanned for movement between the exhaust vents.  Zevran and Bannon followed, long arrows nocked on their hunting bows.

     Jack spotted movement and keyed his comm.  "Gwen, Owen, it's heading in your direction."  Something clattered along the rooftop to land at his feet.  _Thermal detonator._   "Take cover!"

     He reversed direction and started running.  The two elves were quick and agile enough to turn and sprint away, but the problem was, the only cover was the roof's retaining wall-- with a 35 storey drop on the other side.

     Jack dove at the elves at the last second.  He meant to throw them down and shield them with his body as best he could, but the blast caught them all and launched them over the side of the building.  _Dammit!_ Jack had a split second to think.  _What a crappy ending to a really crappy day._   Of course, he couldn't complain; the elves had the worst of it-- they'd die.

     Or not.

     Zevran claimed to be extremely lucky, and maybe there was some truth to that:  the elves slammed into a window washing scaffold parked at the top floor.  Jack twisted, landed half on Bannon, bounced off, and hit the corner of the rail.  Just as he did, there was another crash as the force of the explosion tore one supporting strut off the side of the building.  Jack felt a moment of weightlessness as the scaffolding dropped away under him.

     He scrabbled to grab on to something -- anything -- but it was tipping away from him.  At the last second, he managed to grab a bucket that was hanging from the lower rail.  Or he hoped it was hanging, because it didn't stop his freefall -- the rope attached to the handle was zipping out between the bars of the scaffolding floor.

   He caught a glimpse of the elves clinging to the grating.  Zevran made a grab for his partner; Bannon hung onto the front rail.  Jack gripped the rim of the plastic bucket, probably hard enough to leave indentations in it.  With a jerk, it stopped and snapped him into a gentle swing back and forth.  He looked up only to see that the knot that had caught the end of the rope between the grating and the frame was unraveling from the pull on it.  "Help!"

     The loop of the knot slipped, and the rope fell loose from the scaffold.  Jack kicked his legs helplessly and sucked a breath to scream.  Just then, a hand snatched the rope and twisted it around a bracer-clad forearm.  Bannon had caught him.

     "Don't drop me!" Jack yelled, wishing he didn't sound so panicky.  He really hated pancaking.  He also realized the elf would probably dearly love nothing more than to drop him and let him splatter all over the pavement.  Best not to give him ideas.  "Get me up!" he yelled with more authority.  Well, a little more authority.  He really wished he could stop bicycling his legs, but they seemed to have a mind of their own.  _Come on, there's nothing here to stand on!  Show some dignity!_

     Bannon twisted and said something to Zevran.  The elves shifted, and Bannon's head and other arm joined his left between the scaffold rails.  Veins and tendons stood out on his forearms as he started to haul Jack up, hand over hand.  Damn, he was strong.

     "Get me up!" Jack yelled encouragement.  His left leg kicked out with renewed enthusiasm.  "Come on, come on!  Get me up!"

     "I _am_ going to drop you," the elf grated through clenched teeth, "if you _don't stop saying that!_ "

     Jack clenched his jaw, and then concentrated on crossing his ankles to see if that would stop his legs from swinging.

     Bannon hauled him within reach, though Jack wasn't about to give up his deathgrip on the bucket.  The elf reached down and clamped a hand around his wrist.  He made sure it was Jack's arm, not the coat, that he was digging his fingers into.  Jack winced, but was grateful.  It would be doubly ridiculous if the elf ended up with his coat as he slithered out of it.

     Bannon pulled.  Jack reached up with his free arm and clamped it onto his bicep.  He could see Zevran above them, both arms stretched out and trembling with the strain; one hand claw-hooked into the grating, the other fisted around Bannon's belt.

     Jack's legs kicked out again, searching in vain for something to stand and boost himself up on.  He and the elf grunted and strained to pull him up.  He made a snatch for the harness holding the elf's quiver.  It was empty, and Jack was grateful none of the arrows had hit him on the way down.  And lord knows where the bows had gone.

     "It's a good thing you're not a really big, tall shem," Bannon grunted from where his face was squashed by Jack's chest; "or this would be _really_ difficult."

  
     "Shut up," Jack grated back, "and-- WAIGH!"  The elf had gotten a fistful of his trousers and yanked, giving him a serious wedgie.

     "If you two don't stop flirting," came Zevran's strained voice; "I will drop the both of you!"  
  
  
  


**Jack Strikes Back**

  
  
  
     Well, nothing could clear out a strip club faster than a rampaging Hoix, Jack thought as he looked around the sadly empty room.  Owen was becoming quite the expert Hoix-wrangler.  Jack let him haul the thing into the SUV.  He crossed over to the raised platform where Zevran and Bannon were peering down at a five-foot square pit filled with clear liquid.  It looked like water, but small items -- pocket change, a comb, a condom packet, a plastic drink coaster -- were suspended in it, neither sinking nor floating.  They appeared frozen in time, and the elves stared with puzzled fascination.

     Jack climbed up next to them.  "It's a lube-wrestling pit."  They looked at him, even more puzzled.  "You know:  like mud wrestling, but you get to see more."

     They returned to staring down at it.  "So this entire pool," Zevran said, "is filled with...."

     "Sexual lubricant, yes."

     "And people get in here...," Bannon continued the musings of medieval minds.

     "And wrestle."  Jack grinned.  "Try it.  Take off your shirts and get in."  Oh yes, slicked up elves!

     "You get in it," Bannon growled.

     "It looks rather cold," Zevran said dubiously.

     "Oh, come on," Jack griped.  "It's not.  Not anywhere near as cold as you two wrestling on the floor of the Hub and falling into the tidepool."  Which, heh, had happened on more than one occasion.  They gave him a sour look.  "I could take both of yas," he goaded.

     Bannon glanced at his partner, his look turning decidedly more evil.  Zevran turned his eyes to Jack and snickered.  Leave it to the damned elves to ruin a perfectly good plan to lasciviously exploit them!

     "Yeah?" Bannon said.  "Get in.  Drowning in massage oil; that ought to be fun for you.  Hey, does it burn?  We could set you on fire at the same time."

     Jack bristled at the callous disregard the elf had for his life -- or rather, his deaths.  "You know, fuck you, Bannon."

     "Not in this lifetime."

     "Oh?  Well, next time I revive, it's a date then."

     The elf snarled and gave him the two-fingered salute.

     He smirked.  "Hey, if that's the position you like, you know I can accommodate you."

      _That_ scored a hit on the elf.  He reddened and snarled all the more.  Bannon hopped down from the platform and headed towards the door, Zevran a few steps behind him, shaking his head.

     Jack turned and sauntered after them, his hands in his pockets and an insufferable grin on his face.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes:
> 
> 2000 Bloodsong Points if you recognized the exchange from Red Dwarf. I love that bit, and Rimmer even gets a decent comeback. Probably his only one in the show. Actually, probably the only one in his life.... :X
> 
> You can take 500 Bloodsong Points if you recognize the Dr Who episode I stole the rooftop scaffolding idea from. ;X Uh, I don't remember what it's called, but it's the one where Donna gets back together with the Doctor.
> 
> Not worth any points, really, but I saw the lube-wrestling on CSI: NY.


	3. Called on the Carpet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has to kiss up and explain the whole 'End of Days' screwup to the Minister of Defence. You remember who that is...? At that time...? Well. ::evil smile:: You will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> This technically isn't funny. Maybe it's meta-funny. Anyway, Jack is called to London to explain to the Minister of Defence why this world-wide Rift screwup seems to have originated at Torchwood 3. And Jack has to kiss ass to keep Torchwood in business. You know he hates that.  
>  Bannon & Zevran don't actually appear in this one. I was going to make it a regular Torchwood clip, but this can't happen in canon Torchwood, because Jack left the planet. Oh well.
> 
> Special thanks to Kage Stratten for help with British idioms. If it sounds wonky, that's because it's supposed to.

**Called on the Carpet**

  
  
  
     He'd put it off as long as possible, but the Minister of Defence was breathing down his neck.  As much as Jack tried to keep Torchwood 3 separate from the government and above the vagaries of politics, they still relied on funding from the Crown and approval from the Ministry.  Because Torchwood dealt with the safety and defense of British citizens and interests, they fell under the auspices of the Defence Ministry.

     Who probably wanted to know why the hell the planet-wide Rift Storms seemed to originate at the Torchwood 3 Hub, and by the way,  can you also explain how it happened that a giant demon came to be stomping around in Cardiff?

     'Oh yes, my agents caused all that, monkeying around with the Rift,' was not an acceptable answer, so this would take some finessing.  As he worked on knotting his tie, Jack picked through the array of personas he had created for running cons:  confident pirate, savvy trader, honest merchant, devout pilgrim....  He hated playing the ass-kissing subordinate, but when the livelihood of his team and the protection of the human race were on the line, he'd bite the bullet.

     "Is it that desperate?"

     Jack turned to see Ianto in the doorway, a worried expression on his face.  No doubt brought on by the formal business suit.  Jack never wore a suit jacket and tie.  He turned back to the mirror to make sure he got the last step of the Windsor knot right.  It had been a while, but he remembered.

     Ianto came in and started fussing with it, brushing Jack's hands aside.

     "Gah," Jack complained.  "Not so tight."

     "You want it centered and smart-looking, don't you?"

     "I'll tighten it when I get there," he grumbled.  As sexy and phallic as ties were, he really hated wearing them.  He tugged the knot loose again.

     Ianto tch'd. "It's a shame.  You look very handsome all dressed up."  He lightly brushed the jacket's shoulders and plucked at them to straighten the seams and sharpen the creases.  It seemed Ianto couldn't keep his hands to himself.

     "If you're good, I'll let you take it off me when I get back."  Jack grinned at Ianto's quirked brow of interest, but the Welshman decided to play hard to get.

     He pursed his luscious lips.  "It would be a shame to take it off when I've barely gotten to enjoy it on you."

     "I promise I'll dress up any time you want."  Jack folded his hands in sincerity.

     Ianto's eyes narrowed.  He clearly wasn't buying that line.

     Jack sighed.  "All right, but if we're going to play dress-up, there's something I've been dying to see you in."

     "Oh dear."  A look of alarm came over Ianto's features.

     "What I wouldn't give to know what's going through your mind right now," Jack said with a smirk.  Those quiet, tight-laced types -- you had to watch out for what lay beneath the surface.

     "Nothing!  Absolutely nothing going through my mind, sir.  Just waiting in blank trepidation to hear what kinky getup you had in mind."

     "Actually, sweats."

     Puzzlement creased Ianto's brow.

     Jack leaned back on one leg, tilted his head to contemplate Ianto's form.  "I'm thinking, some really baggy sweatpants, with a tight elastic waistband.  Maybe some scuffed-up trainers.  And a sweatshirt."  He got caught up in undressing and redressing the Welshman with his eyes.  "Oh!  Torn, like with the neck ripped out... sleeves ripped of... and definitely inside-out."

     "Inside-out?"

     He nodded eagerly.  "With the soft, nappy side out?  Irresistible!"

     "Hmm," Ianto hmm'd.  "That actually doesn't sound bad at all."

     "Can you do it?  Tonight?"

     "Me, dress in raggy old sweats, while you wear a neat suit?"  Ianto's mouth turned down in a little moue of disagreement.

     "After I get my ass chewed off in Westminster, I'm going to need some serious recreational therapy."  He made sad eyes at Ianto.

     Ianto, of course, caved.  "All right, then."

     "You're a life saver."  More seriously, Jack added, "Thank you, Ianto."

     "Do you actually have a proper coat in some hidden closet somewhere?"

     "Of course not," Jack said.  This kissing-up thing was only going so far!  And there was no way he was giving up his trademark captain's coat.

     "Very well, then," said Ianto, sounding as if he were suppressing a sigh, the subtle sign of a butler's disapproval.  He fetched Jack's coat and walked him to the exit.

     He held it out solicitously and said, "If I'm to be wearing these oh-so-sexy tatty sweats, does that mean I should be getting sweaty?"

     Jack turned and regarded him, envisioning a flush to those rounded cheekbones, the Welshman's skin shiny and slick, exuding the smell of him under exertion, the salty taste....  He licked his lips, entirely forgetting to answer the question.

     Ianto interpreted it, anyway.  "Give us a ring when you leave London.  I'll get ready."

     A grin spread across the captain's face.  "Ianto, you know what I like!"  And, just what he needed -- a distraction and a feel-good boost before setting out on this onerous duty.  
  


 

  
  
     It was unseasonably warm in the offices of the Defence Ministry.  Jack relinquished his coat along with his sidearm before being ushered to his meeting.  "You wanted to see me, Mr. Saxon?"

     "Yes; come in, captain.  Sit down."

     Jack stepped forward and took the right side chair.  Harold Saxon was one of the youngest men in Parliament.  His thin frame and boyish features only made him seem even more youthful.  But his brown eyes held an intelligence beyond his years.  Right now, they were hard and cold.

     Saxon remained standing behind his imposing desk.  Jack hated that.  He knew it was a psychological ploy to make him feel smaller, but it worked anyway.  He schooled his features and willed himself not to shift in his seat.

     "Do you know how many people died in the recent temporal disturbances, captain?"

     "Yes, sir."

     "Do you?  Do you know exactly the number of casualties, not just in Cardiff, not just in the British Isles, but world-wide?"

     Jack had to look away from that accusing stare.  Of course he couldn't recall the exact numbers.  Did Saxon want to quiz him like a schoolboy?  His tie felt uncomfortably tight.  "I saw the reports, sir."

     "The scientists from UNIT tell me that the energy signals of these anomalies all originated from one particular point on the globe.  Do you know what point that might be?"

     Jack nodded once, but before he could open his mouth to answer, Saxon interrupted.  "You ought!  It is the same location as the Torchwood 3 facility.  Do you care to explain that, captain?"

     "As you know," he explained calmly, looking up to meet the Minister's eyes, "our Hub was built on a Rift that runs through Cardiff.  That's the whole reason for Torchwood 3's existence: to monitor Rift activity."

     "Normally, a localised phenomenon."  Saxon's face remained a stony mask.

     "Normally, yes."

     "Then how do you explain these 'rifts in time and space' appearing all over the globe?  And in such great numbers?"

     "Well, the Rift energy ebbs and flows at random, somewhat like waves out in the open ocean."  He gestured as he explained.  "If the crests of two waves happen to coincide, you end up with one wave twice as high.  If more waves line up, eventually you end up with a rogue wave.  That is, a dangerous wave that is larger and stronger than normal.  That is what we believe happened.  The Rift got hit with a freak energy wave, which caused all the anomalies."

     "You believe?" Saxon drilled him.  "You don't _know?_ "

     "We still have large amounts of data to sift through and analyze, but this is our strongest theory."  Actually, it was a load of bollocks, but Jack was not about to admit that his team, or any one on it, was responsible.

     "So this could happen again?"

     Oh, no.  Jack was removing key components from the Rift Manipulator and keeping them locked up, on top of all the other security protocols he'd installed on the thing.  He couldn't destroy it; it was too similar to the TARDIS's engine, and if the Doctor ever needed replacement parts....

     Aloud, following his rogue wave theory, he said, "The chances of that are infinitesimally small.  But yes."

     Harold Saxon turned to the gauze-curtained window behind his desk, his hands clasped loosely behind his back.  "You know, captain, there are those in the Ministry that believe these situations ought to be handled by an international agency.  A larger agency, more well-equipped to deal with these anomalies."

     UNIT, in other words.  But UNIT was not exactly known for its sympathy towards extraterrestrial life.  "Sir, the Rift phenomena are generally localized.  There's no need for foreign powers--"

     "There are some in the Ministry," Saxon went on, heedless of his protests, "that believe the Crown is wasting money on the Torchwood Agency.  After the debacle at Canary Wharf?  And now this?"

     Coldness gripped Jack.  Torchwood had never come so close to having its charter revoked.  It didn't matter that much to Jack; he could carry on by himself if he had to.  And soon, he would meet up with the Doctor and travel with him again.  But for the people of Cardiff -- of Earth -- things were going to change, and if humanity was not prepared....

     "Sir," he said when he found his voice, "Torchwood's work is more important now than ever."

     "We live in an enlightened age, captain," the Defence Minister mused.  "We no longer believe in ghosts and boogeymen, demons, or magic.  And there are no such things as 'little green men.'"

     "But sir, the evidence--"

     Saxon chuckled.  "The Ghost Shift?  The UFO smashing into Big Ben?"  He looked over his shoulder and grinned.  "And all those things that have happened this past week?  Hoaxes!  Secret government projects.  Terrorists, mass hypnosis, psychotropic drugs in the water!"

     "Sir, you know that's not true."

     "And it is becoming so obvious!"  He turned back.  "Yet all people want to do is bury their heads in the sand and chant, 'It's not real.  It can't be real.'"  He leaned over the desk and fixed Jack with is dark eyes.  "I believe humanity is on the verge of something greater.  Something...."  He straightened, lifted his gaze, as if searching the heavens.  "Something beyond humanity.  And they will need to be pulled out from under their beds, kicking and screaming, if need be."  His eyes came to rest on Jack again.  "Everything is going to change."

     "I agree," said the captain, with the benefits of hindsight from the fifty-first century.

     Saxon smiled.  "I knew we were on the same page.  We can't let these people who are entrenched in the past determine our future.  Rest assured, captain, Torchwood will never lose its charter while I have any say in it."

     Relief flooded Jack.  He relaxed and smiled back.

     "I bet you're glad to hear that," Saxon said cheekily.

     "My team will be, too," Jack admitted.

     "Good to hear, Jack.  May I call you Jack?"

     "Of course, sir."

     Saxon turned to the sideboard.  "What's your poison, Jack?  Scotch as I recall."

     "I...."  He hesitated a moment.  But, what the hell -- it wasn't as if he could get drunk.  "Yes, it is."

     Saxon brought the tumblers over and sat at his desk.  Jack thanked him and took a sip.  Very smooth.  Saxon tipped his glass in a silent toast, then paused.  "Ah, were are my manners?  I didn't even ask after your health.  They tell me you were in a coma."

     "Yes, sir.  A few days."

     "You seem fully recovered, though."

     Jack nodded.  "I tend to bounce back quickly," he said with an ironic smirk.

     Saxon grinned back.  "Good to hear.  And your team?  All is well?"

     Miraculously.  "One gunshot wound, not serious."

     "Good, good.  You know, Lucy missed you at the New Year's gala this year."

     "How is the lovely Mrs. Saxon doing?"

     "Ah hah, that's what she misses," Saxon chided.  "That charm.  She is doing well."

     They conversed a bit, about Lucy's charities, the Saxons' dogs, other mundane things.  Jack enjoyed the scotch a bit more than he should have.  It was good to just relax and chat with an intelligent, forward-thinking young man.

     Harold set aside his glass and interlaced his fingers.  He gave Jack an intent look.  "Can I ask you something?  And, not as your superior.  Just man-to-man, with no kiss-up bullshit answers?"

     This could be dangerous waters.  Jack bided a moment, setting his own glass down on the corner of the blotter.  "Sure," he decided with a soft smile.

     "This is in confidence.  I haven't even mentioned it to my wife yet, but...."  He leaned closer, his voice lowered.  "What would you say if I told you I was thinking of running for Prime Minister?"

     It was as if a light were switched on in Jack's mind.  This man, leading Great Britain into the twenty-first century?  It was brilliant!  "I would say it's a fantastic idea.  You're just the bloke for the job, and exactly the kick in the backside this country needs."

     Harold smiled broadly.  "Now that's what I wanted to hear."  
  


 

  
  
     Jack left the Defence Ministry feeling elated.  _What a nice guy._   Saxon could have his vote.

     Meanwhile, Harold Saxon was contemplating what the captain had said.  A little smile teased at the corner of his mouth.  He called Lucy into his office, and when she arrived, he let that smile burst forth completely.  "Call a press conference tomorrow," he said.  "We're on!"

     "Oh, Harry!  For Prime Minister?"  Her eyes lit up with excitement.

     "Yes, my dear.  Everything is in place, ready to be set in motion!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes:
> 
> What a nice guy.  
> \-- The end of this scene just reminds me so much of the one in Red Dwarf... when Lister and Rimmer travel to the past to meet teen Lister and his band, doing the "Ohm" song. Lister tries to tell his younger self how to become a millionaire, and Rimmer keeps encouraging him to follow his music. After the future guys leave, teen Lister is looking at Rimmer and says, "What a nice guy!" Which, if you know anything about the show, is TOTALLY wrong!


	4. Potpourri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elves at Gwen's house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> Bloodsong: (re: the TW episode "Adam") What IS that stuff in that bowl on Gwen and Rhys's coffee table? My elves want to eat it!  
> Eaten By Dragons: Your elves want to eat potpourri? Why do they want to eat potpourri?  
> Bloodsong: It's potpourri? It's not popcorn and nuts?  
> Eaten By Dragons: It's dried flowers and stuff.  
> Bloodsong: I *must* write a fanfic where they try to eat that!!
> 
> (Woot! I have created a fanfic with NO TYPOS! (at least that spellcheck dot net could find.))

**Potpourri**

  
  
  
_Gwen & Rhys' Apartment:_  
  
     The elves plopped down on the couch, heedless of the clothes scattered on it.  Well, Gwen hadn't been expecting company, had she?  She turned for the bedroom, but pulled up short as the elves dove into the decorative dish on the coffee table and started stuffing things from it into their pockets... and their mouths!?

     "What are you doing?" Gwen yelled at them.

     "It's sitting out on the table!" Bannon protested.  "That means it's for everybody!"  Zevran continued stuffing his face.

     "It's potpourri!"

     "Po-poorey?" the blond elf mangled with his mouth full.  "Is marvelous."  He crunched into the biggest, fluffiest piece he could find.  It broke apart, and he a strange look came over his face.

     "It's not edible!" Gwen insisted, ready to pull her hair out.

     "These aren't sugared nuts?"  Bannon cracked one between his teeth, then he, too, made a funny face.

     "No!  God, will you elves put anything in your mouths?"  She bent to rescue her potpourri, as Bannon tried to spit bits of 'sugared nut' back into the bowl.  "Zevran, don't answer that," she snapped as the elf opened his mouth.  "Just sit there, and don't touch anything!"

 


	5. Dance with the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a Supernatural crossover. Er, crosscrossover. Whatever. The remnants of Torchwood (Jack, Bannon, and Zevran) all seem to have needs and desires that only a demon could supply....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> Some angsty dramaness, because. Because Venti wanted a crossover halloween drabble, and Dawn wanted to see more! And to torment Dawn (and anybody else) who hate's the end of "Children of Earth."
> 
> Takes place in DA:TW after "Miracle Day" and in Supernatural... at some point in time when Dean is dead (actually, he's about to be raised by Castiel) and Crowley is King of the Crossroads.

**Dance with the Devil**

  
  
  
     This had to be the loneliest place in America.  It might have once been the center of a small town, but now all that was left was a pair of dirt roads and a dilapidated building that might have been a barn, or a store, or who knows what.  For all Sam knew, this was the literal heart of America, measuring from border to border.  He stood up, brushing dirt off his hands, shaking melancholy musings out of his mind.

     It didn't take long.  "Well, look who it is."

     He turned swiftly at the familiar, feminine voice.  "Ruby."  He tensed.  This had to be a set-up.

     "And what brings you to my crossroads?" the demon drawled.  "Oh, let me guess...."

     "I want my brother back."

     "No way."

     "I summoned you here for a deal, this is the deal," he snarled.

     Ruby sighed dramatically, then tilted her head coquettishly.  "Hunters are a special case.  But."  She shrugged and looked away.  "The boss is interested.  Come back tomorrow."  She turned and stalked off.

     "Dammit."  Sam went back to the Impala and peeled out, heading back to town.  
  


 

  
  
     Inside the musty old barn, Jack turned away from the chinks in the wall to ask his companions, "What the hell?"

     Zevran shrugged, but Bannon had already vanished.  They heard his voice outside.

     "Hey!"

     The woman turned to him.  "And what is it _you_ want?"

     "What's this about deals?  You can bring people back from the dead?"

     Dammit, the elf was too fast for his own good.  Jack followed Zevran out past the SUV.  The woman cocked a brow as they ranged alongside the elf.  "I'm a demon," she said.

     Zevran said, "You don't look like a demon."

     She smirked and stalked forward.  For a moment, her eyes flashed pure black malevolence.

     "It's an abomination," Bannon pronounced.

     "Never mind that," Jack said.  "How does this deal work?"

     The woman sighed again.  "Standard answer night:  come back tomorrow."  She waved them off carelessly, and vanished in a flash of sulfurous light.

     Jack looked at the elves.  They were each looking more canny than the other as thoughts flashed through their minds.  

     "We should find that guy," Bannon said at last, turning to Jack.

     "Torchwood should totally investigate this."

     They both nodded.  
  


 

  
  
     Sam tried to relax in a quiet booth at the local bar, but his nerves were on edge.  The world wasn't right without Dean in it, and he couldn't rest until he _made_ it right.  He flicked through several pages of online newspaper articles, not really absorbing what he read.

     A shadow darkened his table.  "Hey, buy you a drink?"

     Sam cocked his head up at the tall guy, immediately noticing the long coat, some sort of vintage military thing?  "Sorry, pal.  I don't swing that way."

     "Heh.  Neither do I. I meant as one professional to another."

     "Oh... sorry."  He pushed his laptop aside.  "Sam Winchester."  He offered his hand.

     "Jack Harkness."  His grip was firm and warm.  "These two are with me, Bannon and Zevran."  He indicated two guys who were way too young to be Hunters.  Or was Sam actually getting old?  "They're gay."

     "We are not!" the dark-haired one snapped.

     Jack snickered as he slid in next to Sam.  Sam shoved his satchel over and made room, huffing a short laugh.  The two kids sat across from them, and Jack signaled for a round.

     "You're Hunters?" Sam asked.

     "I'm an assassin," said the blond, in a south of the border accent.

     "Yeah," his brunette partner agreed, "we prefer 'assassins.'"

     Jack interrupted.  "We're not assassins, we're Torchwood."

     "Which is... what, exactly?"

     The man waited while the waitress set out their beers.  He gave her a charming smile that made her blush probably to her toes.  Okay, definitely not gay.  Jack folded his hands around his bottle and looked back to Sam.  "We protect the Earth from alien threats."

     "Aliens... right."  Sam withheld rolling his eyes at the nutjobs.

     "And you deal with demons... right," Jack answered with sarcastic imitation.  He gave a crooked grin.  "Tell us about that."

     "You're not seriously thinking of making a deal with a crossroads demon?"  Inwardly, he sighed.

     "Why not?" asked Zevran.  "You are."

     "That's... different," Sam hedged.  He took a drink, wishing he could avoid this conversation.

     "How so?"

     "Because I know what I'm doing."

     Jack asked, "What, exactly, does this deal entail?"

     "Heh."  Sam shook his head.  "Look, I know what you're thinking.  Stop.  It's a bad idea, and I'm not going to help you pull it off."

     "All right, fair enough," Jack said amicably.  "Let's juts enjoy our drinks, then we'll leave you alone."

     Much to Sam's relief, they did just that.  He remained for a while, re-reading those same articles over and over.  His mind was on Dean; he couldn't concentrate.  Finally, he got ready to head to the motel to turn in.  He flipped the laptop closed and slid it into his satchel, noticing right away that something was wrong.  He dug around inside, but there was no denying it.  John Winchester's journal was missing.  _Shit!_

 

  
  
  
  
     "Well, this is too easy," Bannon said, flipping through the battered journal under the SUV's interior light.

     "You don't even have to be a mage?" Zevran asked.

     "No, you just stick these things in a box and bury it at a crossroads."

     "That's not the hard part," Jack insisted.  "Demons always want a price."

     "Your soul," said Bannon.

     "Naturally."

     "They come to collect it after ten years.  Whack, you're dead, boom.  One soul."  He shared a look with his partner.  "We should sell them Jack."

     "You know, what the hell is your problem with killing me all the time?"

     "Come on, it's perfect!  Ten years, they come, they whack you, bam!  Ten minutes later, you're back walking and talking."

     Jack didn't answer, but only fumed silently.

     Zevran ignored their animosity.  "You think it's that easy to cheat them?"

     "Why not?  They're not that smart.  They can't possibly expect Jack to be immortal."  
  
  


 

  
     Jack thought about it, long and hard.  Long into the cold hours of dawn.  Ten years.  Ten more years.  He thought of what Bannon and Zevran had.  What he might have had, with Ianto.

     Ten more years.  ...Or even more.  Immortality was a big ace up his sleeve.  
  


  
  
     Most of the next day was spent with the elves plotting out their strategy.

     "Okay," Bannon said, stuffing his mouth with french fries at the local diner.  "I'll do it, and tell them we want the Taint cured."

     "Well, not all cured," said Zevran.

     "Good point.  The Taint will never get stronger or grow and kill us."

     "But you're not selling your soul.  I am."

     "No, I am."

     "I cannot let you."

     "Who's the negotiator?"

     "Guys," Jack interrupted, "if demons exist--"

     "Oh, they exist," Zevran assured him.

     "You can't cheat them," the captain finished.

     "That's bullshit," Bannon said.  "And I'm doing it."  He looked at Zevran.  "For us."

     "We shall shoot for it."

     "Oh, fine."

     The two elves started playing Rock, Paper, Scissors.  And they kept going, because each round, they'd make the same play.  Over and over.  This Grey Warden bond was handy in so many situations, but sometimes...!

     Jack finally got bored watching.  "Guys, enough!  They'll never give you a 2-for-1 deal."

     "Then we shall both do it," Zevran proclaimed.  "And die together."

     Bannon gave him a soulful look.  "All right.  Together."  
  


 

  
  
     The sun went down and brought out the dusk shadows.  It also brought the black Impala back to the crossroads.  The young Hunter leapt out.  "Give me back my journal!"  He leveled a sawed-off shotgun.

     "Stop waving that gun around," Bannon said, mildly irked. Jack and Zevran went over by the elf, also nonplussed.  Sam looked seriously irritated, but Bannon had called his bluff.  He wasn't about to start shooting.  Yet.

     "Gentlemen, gentlemen!"  A stout fellow strolled in from, well, nowhere.  "Please, no pushing, no shoving; we'll have time to get to all of you."  He grinned, leaving no doubt that he was indeed the demon they were scheduled to meet.  He cocked his head.  "Wow, you'd think Hell was having a fire sale.  Get it?"

     "Who are you?" Sam growled.

     "Name's Crowley, King of the Crossroads."  They all looked blank.  "What, never heard of me?  I'm hurt."  He affected to look mildly put out.  Then he turned to the Hunter with mock sorrow.  "Sam, I know why you're here.  Sorry, mate.  I can't help you."

     "What?  But--"

     "Orders from the top.  You know how it is," Crowley said offhandedly.  "Oh wait, you don't have that kind of hierarchy in your business, so I guess you don't."

     "But you can have me," the kid protested.  "In-In ten years time, and you already have Dean."

     "Look, I know.  You want Dean out of Hell."  Crowley opened his hands.  "Done."

     Sam only looked bewildered.  "What... that-that's it?"

     "You'll find him here."  The demon handed Sam a folded slip of paper.

     "I don't understand."

     "Oh, you will.  After it's too late, but never mind.  Now if you'll excuse us, I have some business with these gentlemen."

     Sam turned and stood in front of Jack and his cohorts.  "Guys, I'm telling you.  Do Not Do This.  Nothing good will ever come out of making a deal--"

     "Come on, Sam," Crowley interrupted.  "Really?  The preachings of a hypocrite?  Yeah, that's gonna work."

     The Hunter's shoulders slumped in defeat.  "At least give me my damned book."  Bannon handed it over.  Sam snatched it from his grip and stomped back to his car.

     Crowley's eyes lit up like a used car salesman's.  "So, who's next?"

     Bannon said, "Yeah, I have a few questions."

     "Customer service is my specialty."

     The elves shared a glance.  "We have... this blood disease, the Taint.  It's slowly killing us."

     "And you want it cured -- no problem!"

     "No, actually.  We want to keep it.  Just... we don't want it to get any stronger, to overpower us."

     "Hmm...."  The demon contemplated them.  "That's do-able."

     "And forget this ten years deal..."

     "Oh no, that's _the_ deal."

     "The Taint is going to kill us in ten years or so.  We're not going to let you kill us in ten years to avoid dying from it."  Bannon folded his arms.  "That's a chump deal."

     "Hrm, I see your point," Crowley conceded.  "Twenty years?"

     Bannon waved that off.  "The point of this deal is for us to live our lives.  All of our lives.  Sure, when we get too old and slow, we'll be done, but we don't know if that's going to be twenty years, thirty, fifty...."

     "Why do I get the feeling this is going to get unnecessarily complicated?"  Crowley rubbed his face.  Then he straightened.  "All right, I'll tell you what.  I have... things in the works.  I could use... people with certain talents."

     Bannon narrowed his eyes.  "What kind of 'talents'?"  
  
  


 

  
     Jack paced restlessly, one ear on the wheelings and dealings of demon and elf.  Crowley wanted to play his cards close to his chest, of course, but the captain got the idea that some sort of coup was in the works.  And for some reason, the demon needed monsters.  The elves' expertise in fighting darkspawn on their world, and all types of strange aliens on this one, led them to be inimitably suited to become Hunters.

     Crowley had conjured himself a chair, not offering the same luxury to his opponent.  Yet Bannon was relentless.  He not only got the demon to grant him and Zevran immortality, he talked the demon down from 200 years of servitude to 50 with 25 of being on call.  Anything after that would require further payment.

     Jack thought to warn Bannon against the immortality deal, but the elf wouldn't listen to him, any more than he'd listen to Sam Winchester warn him about trying to bring someone back from the dead.  Bannon did leave a loophole, however.  If the elves ever got tired of living, they could off themselves, or each other.  That death would stick.  Zevran insisted on immortal youth to go with the longevity, not one to be fooled into that old trap.  Then Bannon insisted on regenerative powers.

     Crowley threw his hands up in the air.  "Do you want the moon, with a cherry on top?  Look, eternal youth, no problem.  Eternal life, a snap.  But you're going to have to live in the world and just learn to be careful not to get pieces of you whacked off, mate.  Regrowing a limb, an arm, a _head?_   Seriously?"

     "You want us to hunt monsters for you, don't you?" Bannon countered.  "Things like werewolves?  That rip your arms off?  Bite your head off?  Tear your guts out?  You want us to be _careful_ around these things, and make sure we don't get hurt?  Or you want us to charge in there and kick some ass?"

     "Argh!"  Crowley put his hands in his head as if the elf were actually physically torturing him.  "All right, all right!  Damn it!"  He looked up.  "You are going to make one Hell of a demon someday."

     The elf snorted.  He probably already knew that.  
  


 

  
  
     At last, Crowley sent the elves off with the mission of bringing him a vampire.  A living one -- well, an undead, kicking and screaming one -- to prove their worth.  The demon slumped back in his chair, with a puff of breath.  He gave Jack a tired and worried look.  "I hope you want something simple."

     Jack nodded.  "Just... someone returned from the dead."

     "Who is it?"

     "Ianto Jones."  He tried to think how to describe Ianto, and their relationship, but it was too vague, too complicated.

     At any rate, Crowley only took a moment to think.  "Ah, yes.  That's do-able."

     "You know who he is?"  Out of millions of souls?

     "Demon, mate.  I know everybody."  He gave a little smile, that wasn't really friendly.

     Jack began to worry about how much this demon knew about him... being an anomaly.

     "So, standard rate, then?" Crowley went on cheerfully.  "Ten years, guaranteed, then your soul is mine, payment due in full.  Your friend, though... unless he gets himself killed...."  He shrugged.

     Jack was tempted to mention his immortality... and losing it.  But no.  Bannon was right.  It was too valuable of a bargaining chip.  "That's right," he lied.

     "Not at all interested in that immortality deal?"

     Jack shut down his thoughts and emotions.  "No."

     "Why is that, I wonder?"

     "Not everyone is that stupid."

     Crowley tilted his head.  "You think eternal life is a bad deal, then?"

     "I'm more curious about you being able to take it away."

     "Oh, that?"  The demon waved it off carelessly.  "'Tis only a matter of separating a body and soul.  Another demon thing.  You bind them together, you get immortality.  You pull them apart, you get dead.  Easy Peasy."  He smiled another shark-like smile.

     Jack swallowed.  In ten years he could be dead, at last.  But did he really want that?  After Miracle Day, he wasn't so enamored of the thought.  And if Ianto were with him....  Ten years.  Would that be enough?  Even if they could stop this hesitant dance, begin to live their lives -- their life, together -- to the fullest, starting right now?

     Would there ever be enough time?

     Crowley interrupted his thoughts.  "Those two twinks.  Friends of yours?"

     The captain pursed his lips as he thought over the complex relationship between himself and the elves.  "No...  just acquaintances."

     "How would you like to earn more than ten years?  For you, and your friend?"

     Jack sensed the bait being laid in the steel jawed trap.  And yet, it's allure was too powerful to be denied.  "How much longer?"  
  


 

  
  
     Bannon and Zevran delivered their vampire to the King of the Crossroads the next night.  Crowley seemed impressed, though he tried not to show it.  He gave the elves their deal, and shooed them off with a jaunty wave goodbye, while he came over to talk to Jack.  As soon as the elven pair were out of sight around the barn, the fake smile dropped from Crowley's face.  "You're sure you can get them for me?  I put out a lot on that deal."

     "Trust me," Jack said, "I know all the pitfalls and drawbacks of this gig.  I know what buttons to push."

     "I'd hate to meet the monster what cursed you, mate."

     "It was a friend," Jack replied bitterly.  He didn't want these feelings dug out of the pit he'd buried them in, so he prodded the demon.  "Do we have a deal or not?"

     "Well, in order to get a warm body, there's just this little matter of sealing the deal."  Crowley's eyes glittered.

     "The demon's kiss," Jack said flatly.  He'd seen the journal.

     Crowley's lips twitched in a smirk.

     "I'm not from this century," Jack scoffed.  He stepped in, took the demon's chin firmly in hand, and kissed him.  For a moment, he considered giving the damned demon a full bore Captain Jack Harkness seduction special, but Crowley wasn't worth it.  It was just a kiss.  Just like any other of thousands, just like those with--  Jack pulled away.

     Crowley blinked a few times.  "Wow."  He recovered himself a bit.  "Well, he's all yours.  Free and clear, unless you decide to pack it in.  Or unless you fail to deliver the elf boys."

     Jack waved him off as he turned, dismissing the demon's presence.  He could take his pet vampire back to Hell.  Jack's only focus now was the other figure standing a couple of meters away.  He started forward.  "Ianto?"

     The man stiffened slightly, hardly noticeable against his already stiff posture, except for one who knew him so well.  He remained facing the other way.

     Jack licked his lips nervously.  "It's me," he said.  "Ianto?"  He drew abreast of the young man.

     "What?" Ianto asked flatly, cutting him a brief sidewise look.

     Jack swallowed.  This wasn't how he'd expected things to go.  He struggled to find some footing.  "I'm sorry," he blurted.  For getting Ianto killed, for not being able to save him.  "It's my fault.  And I didn't... I couldn't...."  He rubbed his face.  "I wanted to set things right.  Please, Ianto...."

     "I died."  The Welshman's voice was steady, his eyes still focused in the distance.  "I was..." A shadow of pain crossed his face.  "I was dead."  He pursed his lips as if tasting the bitterness of these words.  "And as I lay dying, in your arms, I poured out my heart, my soul, to you.  And you...."

     Jack felt a sudden rush of heated shame.

     "Well, you let me know exactly what you felt about me."

     "No, I--"

     Ianto rounded on him, brow creased in anger, his stoic demeanor evaporating.  "The great con-man, the almighty liar -- and you couldn't even muster up the one little lie that would have comforted me as I gasped my last breath!"

     "That's not--"

     "No!  It's quite clear the feelings you had for me -- or lack thereof!  I should have gotten the hint.  I suppose," Ianto spat, "'I once had a boyfriend who dressed smartly and made coffee' really isn't that impressive of a story!"

     "Whoa!  Let me--"

     But Ianto didn't let him explain.  He stalked off.  "I suppose I should thank you for rescuing me from Hell.  Don't trouble yourself further."

     "Ianto!"  Jack started after him, but a hand grabbed his arm.  He snarled at the elf, who should be minding his own business, elsewhere!

     "Let him go," Bannon said.

     "I will not!"

     "Give him some time."  Bannon actually yanked Jack back by his arm.  The captain shook him off.  "I'll go talk to him."

     Jack snarled again, but let him.  Ianto was in no mood to listen, and could Jack blame him?  He didn't trust the elfin weasel not to badmouth him to Ianto, but... no.  No, Bannon had shown... some surprising compassion.

     He kicked a stone out of the crossroad and turned away.

 


	6. Dungeons & Dragons in the Hub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ianto for some reason thinks that Jack and the elves should play a DnD game with him. Perhaps it will help them get along better?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> This is... something my Brain insisted we post. Right now.

**Dungeons & Dragons in the Hub**

  
  
  
  
     Ianto set the tray of party snacks and drinks within easy reach, then moved to set up his Dungeon Master screen and tools at the head of the conference table.  Presently Bannon and Zevran strolled in, commandeered the Chex mix bowl, and sat at one side.  Jack came in a bit later, while Ianto was surveying the elves' character sheets.

     He frowned.  "These characters are two elven rogues."

     " _Si_ ," Zevran agreed quickly, barely pausing in his chewing.

     "But you _are_ elven rogues.  The whole idea of a role playing game is that you get to be something you're _not_.  Something different.  Something new and interesting."

     "What could be more interesting?" Bannon countered.

     " _Si_.  There is nothing better than an elven rogue.  You humans play this game so you can be _us!_ "

     Ianto looked over at Jack, who was still filling in his character sheet.  "Did you create an elven rogue?"

     "Nope."

     "And my character is a wise and generous healer, a cleric of the gods.  She's very pious and stoic."

     "Stoic?" Jack snarked, "Well, there's something new and interesting for you."

     "Shut up."  Ianto looked back at the elves.  "Make up some new characters.  Something different."

     Zevran said, "If we are making up new characters and completely different from ourselves, then Bannon shall be a dwarf!  Yes, a dwarven warrior in heavy plate, with a huge war axe.  And a beard!  A vast, luxurious beard!"

     Bannon frowned at his partner.  "Well, Zevran is going to be a mage.  No, wait, a _sorceress_.  With a big bosom!  And her name is Luster."

     Ianto slapped a palm to his face.

     Zevran said, "In that case, make sure that I definitely have item number two from my supply list."

     With trepidation, Ianto looked at the list.  "Zevran!" he groaned.  "A belt of gender change is a cursed item!  You're not supposed to want one!  Once you put it on, you can't get it off without help from a... cleric."  Immediately, he saw the disaster looming in that scenario.

     "So your cleric character needs to get the belt off me?"  Zevran waggled his brows, making Ianto slap his hand to his face again.

     Then Jack said, "I can't decide."  He held a different character sheet in each hand.  "Who gets more chicks?  The noble, brave, paladin in shining armor who rescues the damsels in distress, or the shady, scruffy, bad boy ranger?"

     "Ranger!" Zevran opined immediately.

     "Don't paladins have to take oaths of chastity?" Bannon asked.

     "Ranger it is!"  Jack tossed the other character sheet aside.

     Ianto interrupted this course of events with, "This game revolves around a story, an engaging and deeply moving story about the nature of good and evil, loyalty, sacrifice, and comaraderie.  There's not going to be a whole lot of sex going on!"

     Jack just gaped at him.  "Zevran's character is a charismatic sorceress with big breasts and a belt of gender change.  Of _course_ there's going to be sex!  A lot of sex!  Much smexy sex!"

     "There will be indeed!" Zevran crowed.  "And beard sex, with the dwarf!"

     "Beard -- _what!?_ "  Bannon stared.  "Wait, I don't think I want to know!"

     Ianto's head thunked down amidst his multi-sided dice.  "God," he groaned, "why did I ever think this might be a good idea?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes:
> 
> 1000 Bloodsong points if you recognize Luster, the high-charisma sorceress from "The Gamers: Dorkness Rising 2" (not the first dorkness movie, that was really horrid. but this one was good!)


	7. Fisticuffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is bored of paperwork. Bannon & Zevran are just bored. So they all decide it would be much more fun to beat the crap out of each other. (Men!) Risque shenanigans ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> This only happened because my Brain thought I was taking too long writing all the stories it made for me, so it got bored and made another one to amuse itself. Some days, I hate my Brain.
> 
> This also happened because of an obsession with Mary Sues. Because a character who always wins may get this terrible stigma, I had to make sure Bannon loses to Jack at least once. Sheesh. That, plus Jack was whining.

**Fisticuffs**

  
  
  
     Jack rubbed both hands up and down his face, then peered over his fingers, blinking blearily.  Desk jobs were not for him.  If some sort of deadly disaster didn't manifest itself soon, he was going to go nuts and... create one!

     He looked up hopefully as a shadow darkened his doorway.  A deadly disaster?  Close-- it was those annoying elves.

     "What are you doing?" Jack asked them, not yet giving up on the prospect of chucking this self-replicating paperwork.

     "Nothing!" Bannon griped.

     Zevran folded his arms and shot an accusatory glare at the captain.  "When we signed up for this job, we expected some action.  I am bored!"

     "I sympathize."  Jack cast about for some type of escape.  Aha!  "How about some more weapons training?"  
     The elves' eyes lit up.  "Are you finally going to try out this hand-to-hand stuff you asked about?" Bannon said.  Zevran's grin turned bloodthirsty.

     Oh yeah-- some real exercise!  Get the blood pumping, get all hot and sweaty...!  Plus, he could get back at Bannon for punching him in the balls.  "Yes," Jack drawled, his eyes narrowing hungrily.  "Let's."

 

  
  
  
     Down in the gym room, Jack rolled up his sleeves.  "No knives," he warned.  "No weapons."  He put his gun and holster aside while the elves divested themselves of their arsenal of blades.  "No double-teaming!"

     Zevran moved near the wall at a glance from his partner.  Bannon came out to the middle of the room.  Jack wondered if the elf had noticed he didn't say 'No hitting below the belt.'  Damned elves fought dirty anyway.

     Jack raised his fists, his right side angled towards the elf.  Bannon had his knees bent but left his guard down.  "Come on," Jack prodded.

     "Any time you're ready."

     Ah, the elf wanted him to commit to an attack.  Jack knew better.  He warily circled his opponent, shifting his weight, waiting for the right moment....

     Bannon turned slowly, moved around him.  Jack watched his eyes, his hands, his center of gravity, looking for a telltale twitch-- Bannon suddenly exploded into action; his fist rocked Jack's head aside.  Two more punches-- _wham! wham!_ \-- then the elf jumped back as Jack tried to swing at him.  Goddamn, he was _fast_.

     Jack circled the other way, tightening his guard.  Bannon mirrored him, his expression as unreadable as before-- no hint of satisfaction at scoring on Jack, no hint of when his next flurry would be.  Guy was stone cold.

     Jack feinted with his right and swung his left around into the elf's path.  Bannon ducked, barely in time, and Jack pressed forward.  They exchanged blows.  Elves were smaller than humans, lighter in overall build.  But they had exceptional strength all the same.  Plus, they were light on their feet and fast.  For every solid punch Jack landed, Bannon hit him four or five times.

     Jack jumped back, flicking lank hair out of his eyes.  "Don't think your Grey Warden healing is as fast as mine," he commented breathlessly.  Bannon just shrugged.  Jack let his guard down, as if he were going to call the match.  The elf leapt in and snapped a punch to his face.  Jack was already leaning back, expecting the blow.  Blood gushed from his nose, but it wasn't broken.  He turned his hips and raised a leg to block the elf's follow-up kick to his groin.  Then he pivoted and kicked hard at Bannon's supporting leg.

     That dumped him handily on his ass.  Jack swung another kick at him while he was down, not full force of course.  Quite.  Bannon rolled away with Jack in pursuit, then twisted to his feet.  The elf dodged one way then cut back under Jack's swing.  He tagged the human in the stomach.  He kept circling, however, trying to land a punch to Jack's kidneys.  He darted in and out so fast, Jack felt like the bear in a bear-baiting pit. 

     All right, he was sick of the little blighter's advantage in speed and dexterity, so he went with his strengths.  He lunged at Bannon, grabbing him in a bear hug.  He bore the elf down to the floor, and they grappled madly.  Jack was on top, bringing his weight to bear, and Bannon writhed under him like an eel.  He raked his nails across Jack's face, narrowly missing an eye.  Jack grabbed his wrist and wrenched his arm down, flipping him onto his stomach.  Bannon grunted, the first sound he'd made since they'd started.  An elbow jabbed Jack in the ribs.  The captain twisted Bannon's arm into a hammerlock, then he snagged a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket.  With a few practiced flicks, he had the elf's hands cuffed behind him.

     "Yeah, had enough?" Jack panted.  He tongued the corner of his mouth, tasting blood.  He leaned on Bannon, pressing the elf to the floor.  Bannon grunted again, but said nothing.  He didn't even thrash.  He was up to something.  "Maybe we should play for forfeits again, eh?  I win, you have to kiss me."  He grinned.  Moreso at the elf's snarl.

     He should have gotten up faster instead of taunting the bastard.  Jack could hardly be surprised that Zevran jumped him.  Stars exploded behind Jack's eyes as the elf's fist connected with his face.  He hit hard, not sparring, not playing.  The assassin didn't pull punches.  Jack staggered away before they tripped over Bannon.  Zevran followed.  He blocked Jack's right hook and he kicked out.  Jack twisted desperately and Zevran's foot just grazed him.  It still hurt like the devil.  Jack snapped a punch straight at Zevran's face.  If he wanted to play hard, he was going to get hard.

     Zevran dropped straight down and lunged.  He punched Jack in the meaty part of the thigh.  The captain felt the impact all the way down to the bone.  His leg wavered and began to crumple.  Zevran rose with a left uppercut to Jack's jaw.  He fell back, tasting blood.

     More stars exploded as Jack found himself on his hands and knees.  But he knew what was coming next, so he turned to the side and caught Zevran's foot before it connected with his ribs.  He heaved up, dumping the elf backwards.

     Jack scrambled forward, knowing his best chance was to overpower Zevran the way he had Bannon.  Zevran kicked him in the shoulder, but Jack got the elf's legs pinned under him.  He snatched at Zevran's flailing fists and finally caught one, then the other.  He pulled them to the floor and leaned his weight on his hands and hips.  Zevran thrashed side to side, but it was hopeless.  He stopped, looking up at the captain, panting.

     Jack squinted at him.  One eye had nearly swollen shut, but it would go down in a few minutes.  "You yield?" he asked his captive.

     Zevran wriggled again, in a not entirely unpleasant manner.  The elf's heavy-lidded eyes half closed; his sensuous mouth half opened.  His amber eyes glittered as the tip of his tongue ran along his upper lip.  Oh yes.

     Jack leaned down for his kiss, not stupid enough to release the assassin's hands.  He covered Zevran's pliant mouth with his own.  He probed gently with his tongue, then slid it deeper as the assassin opened his mouth to accept it.  Jack slowly ran his tongue around the inside of that hot mouth while Zevran closed his lips, sucked lightly on his tongue and lower lip.

     Jack hummed faintly in pleasure, smirking at the fact that the elf's recalcitrant lover was lying cuffed just a few feet away.  He pulled back slowly, prolonging the contact between his lips and Zevran's.  He smiled slowly, and then was suddenly blinded as his nose crunched under the assassin's forehead.  He yelled out and reared back, one hand reflexively going to his face.  Zevran twisted and threw him over.  Jack rolled so the elf's boot caught him in the back instead of the ribs.

     "Gah!" he yelled from between his hands.  "I yield!  God!" He turned over so the blood didn't pour down his throat and choke him.  Jesus, that hurt!

     Zevran simply stood by and turned to his lover.  "Can't you get those off?"

     "They're stuck!"

     "Here...."  Jack got up, still gingerly cradling his nose, and moved beside Bannon.  "Where's your pick?" 

     Bannon unfolded one hand, showing Jack the wire between his fingers.  Jack took it form him and opened the cuffs.  He didn't bother with handcuff keys-- his keyring already weighed a ton.  "These aren't your basic medieval manacles," he said, his voice still a bit nasal.  He wiped blood from his upper lip and winced, but tried to ignore the throbbing pain while his nose straightened out.

     He showed the elves how the handcuffs worked; how the bow-arm rotated completely around through the ratchet.  "This is your problem, you have to disengage the stop."  He turned the cuffs and showed his pupils the mechanisms.  "This keeps the cuffs from tightening after they're closed.  Release it like this... then unlock them like this."  He demonstrated.  Bannon went to take the cuffs, but Jack pulled them back.  "If you're good," he teased, "you can take these home tonight and play with them."  He glanced at Zevran.  The assassin grinned slyly.

     "Give me my pick back," Bannon demanded.

     Jack handed it over.  "You only have one?"

     The elf shot him a sneer.  "You ready for another go?"

     Jack ran a hand over his face, then wiped the blood off on his shirt.  "I'm fine.  It's you guys who can't keep up with me."

     "It's just some cuts and bruises," Bannon scoffed.  "We'll be fine."

     "Suit yourself," Jack said with a challenging grin.  The elves split up and started flanking him.  "Hey, I said no double-teaming."

     Zevran clicked his tongue at him.  "Tch-tch-tch!  Such a big, strong, imposing man as yourself, you must practice against multiple foes.  They wouldn't be so foolish as to come one at a time."

     "You're the biggest target," Bannon said.  "First priority."

     Jack backed away slowly.  "Now hang on...."  He needed a preemptive surprise attack, so he jumped at Bannon and punched him in the head.  Quickly, he reversed and caught Zevran with a backfist as the elf charged him.  The blond staggered to one knee.  Jack turned and attacked Bannon with a flurry of blows and a couple of kicks, mostly thrown in to keep the elf off balance.

     He also circled to keep both elves in front of him.  If they surrounded him, he was fucked.  He grinned like a maniac and lit into them with wild abandon.  His heart raced, his adrenaline pumped; he felt stoked and alive.  Flashes of pain-- from his ribs, his face, his stomach, his scraped knuckles-- only enhanced the feeling.

     Bannon spat a curse, and Jack knew he'd scored.  He flicked blood from his face.  Zevran had disappeared, so Jack prepared for a rear attack.  The elf leapt on him and wrapped an arm around his throat.  Jack bent double and threw the elf over his shoulder.  He crashed into his partner.

     Jack danced back to give them a chance to recover.  "Had enough?"

     "Fucking shem!"  Bannon charged him and cut to his right.  Zevran crossed behind to flank him.  Jack ignored the bait and faced the assassin.  They exchanged hard punches.

     Bannon tried to tackle him around the waist.  Jack  staggered, but caught his balance and remained upright.  Elven dexterity that!  Hah!  He hammered an elbow down on Bannon's spine.  The elf cried out and dropped away.

     Jack threw a reckless haymaker at Zevran, and the blond backpedaled.  Jack pursued and cut him off as he tried to dart past.  Now he had Zevran backed into a corner. He'd better finish him quick before his partner--

     --grabbed his arm and yanked him back.  Jack staggered and Bannon swung him around by the arm.  There was a racheting and a click-- dammit, the elf had gotten ahold of his handcuffs!  Jack swung at him with his free arm, but Zevran plowed into his back, and all three of them collapsed in a heap.

     When they rolled free, Jack's hands were both locked behind him.  Shit.  The elves got to their feet.  Bannon took a step towards him, drawing a foot back to kick him in the ribs.

     "I give!" Jack cried.  He lowered his head and tensed, fully expecting the elf to 'accidentally' take one last shot at him.  But he didn't.

     He turned to his partner.  "What the hell was that, dropping him on me?"

     "Me?  You are the one who couldn't--!"

     Bannon launched himself at Zevran, aiming for a headlock, but the assassin was far too used to that maneuver.  In moments, the two were wrestling on the floor, cursing in at least three languages, while Jack wriggled over to the wall and got his back propped up against it.

     Zevran had Bannon pinned and was slugging his lover ungently in the stomach.  Bannon suddenly grabbed Zevran by one ear and yanked him to the side.  Zevran yelped.  "You cheating bastard!"

     Now Bannon straddled him and grabbed at his flailing arms.  It didn't stop Zevran from spitting imprecations at him in his hot latin tongue.  Bannon pinned Zevran's arms over his head and leaned his weight onto him.  He bent down as if to claim his victor's kiss, but Zevran snarled and snapped his teeth at Bannon.

     The brunette elf jerked back once, twice, but didn't fully relent.  At last, the assassin went lax, and Bannon brushed his lips lightly over that snarl.  Then the elves' lips met in a strong, hard kiss.  He released Zevran's hands to run his own through the assassin's long blond locks, freeing them from their tie.  Zevran's arms snaked around his parnter, stroking and caressing over Bannon's shirt.  Bannon slowly pumped his hips, rubbing against Zevran through their jeans.

     Jack watched.  Well, oogled.  What else was he going to do?  He was handcuffed and beat up and sitting against the wall while two hot elves made out right in front of him.  Kinda hard to do anything else, really.

     Bannon stilled and raised his head.  "Hey," he said breathily.  Zevran opened his eyes and looked up.  "Let's torture the shem."  They both turned their gazes on Jack.

      _What?_

     "Okay," Zevran said, a wicked grin springing to his lips.

      _Oh, shit!_   Torture the shem?  Jack didn't like the sound of that, not from Bannon, not from the elf who really did _not_ like him.  The elf whose lover he'd had wild, rough sex with.  "Hey," Jack protested; "this is torture enough!  Especially since you cuffed my hands behind me!"  

     The elves came and stood over him, and he had a split second to decide what to do.  Would a strenuous command bring them to heel?  Hell, no.  Maybe if Jack screamed for help, Gwen or Ianto would come to his rescue.  But, if so, he'd just have to go back to that damned paperwork.  So, what the hell, he decided to see what they would do.

     Bannon snagged his ankles and yanked him away from the wall.  Zevran's hand shot out and prevented Jack's skull from cracking against the cinderblocks.  At least they were being considerate with this torture.

     They laid him out on the floor, and Zevran straddled him.  The elf put his hands on either side of Jack's head and looked down into his face.  Jack could see bruises darkening his high cheekbones, a cut leaking blood at the corner of his mouth.  A fall of flaxen hair slowly cascaded down in front of one shoulder.

     "What... what are you going to do to me?"  That came out more huskily than Jack had meant.

     "Mmm...."  That evil smile spread across his face again, lighting up his eyes.  "Forfeit?" he purred, half-asking and half-demanding. 

     Jack relaxed the tense muscles in his stomach, shoulders, and spine.  He tipped his head back slightly in surrender.  Zevran lowered his head, and Jack's lips automatically parted to accept the kiss.  It was brief, soft.  Jack barely had begun to register disappointment when Zevran pressed his mouth down again.  A little longer, a _little_ harder.  He continued doing this, increasing the pressure and passion of the kisses by degrees in an erotic rhythm not unlike the thrusting of hips during sex.  Jack fell easily into it, pressing upwards to meet each hot, wet touch.

     All too soon, Zevran stopped and straightened up.  Jack sighed softly.  Zevran combed his fallen hair back over his shoulder with a languid stroke of his hand, then he sat back.  Because Jack's hands were trapped under his back, his hips were raised.  Zevran's firm, round rump came into contact with his shaft.  Jack swallowed.  Zevran's smile returned as he looked down.

     Then Jack noticed Bannon standing there; he turned his head to look at the elf.  Bannon was watching him and Zevran, one hand thoughtfully stroking his chin.  _Oh, shit._   What was he thinking, and how much was this going to hurt?

     When Jack didn't return his gaze to Zevran, Zevran looked up at Bannon as well.  The dark-haired elf seemed to make up his mind.  He lowered his hand and said to Zevran, "Distract him."  _Oh, shit!_

     Zevran cocked a brow.  "As you command, _mi patrone_."  He sat back a little further, pressing down on Jack a little harder.  Jack gulped.

     Zevran rocked slightly back and forth, his sleek ass rubbing Jack's cock slowly.  Jack inhaled through his nose, a long breath, and exhaled at the same controlled rate in an attempt to keep from getting hard.  Well hard _er_.  His breath sounded loud in his ears.  When he swallowed again, his throat clicked.

     Concentrate!  What was Bannon doing, there behind Zevran?  Zevran leaned forward again, cutting off Jack's view with his shoulders.  He started kissing the human once more, and Jack kissed back eagerly.  He thrust his tongue forward, but Zevran pulled back.  The elf nipped teasingly at his lips.  Jack held back in wait for the next full kiss.  He had to get his tongue into the elf's mouth and distract him from distracting _him_.  If he could get Zevran aroused, he'd become an ally against whatever nefarious plan his lover was concocting.

     Zevran denied him.  Jack craned his neck, a soft sound of frustration (desperation?) escaping his throat.  He felt something tugging at his feet.  He shifted his legs.  Was the elf trying to steal his shoes?  Jack kicked slightly, but quit because Zevran put a forearm across his throat.  Jack gagged softly in reflex, but the elf wasn't hurting him.  Yet.

     Zevran leaned forward, increasing the pressure.  He wasn't cutting off Jack's air, not completely, but it was constricting and it made his chest feel tight.  Zevran put his mouth over Jack's, making the human's heart race.  He felt lightheaded.

     Hazily, he felt a sharp sensation around his ankles.  Then a voice said, "Turn him over."

     Zevran broke the kiss and lifted his arm.  Jack gasped.  The elves rolled him onto his stomach, and he wriggled a little, to keep from squashing his tenders.  His ankles were bound together in what he surmised were his bootlaces.  He tested the knots.

     Bannon straddled his thighs, and Zevran knelt beside him.  The assassin put a hand on the back of Jack's neck and pressed his face to the unyielding floor.  He stopped moving.  The restraint was so callously brutal, Jack's heart thumped in fear of what they might do to him.  Still, some part of him wanted to struggle a little more and _make_ them do things to him.

     The thief pried open his hands, checking for Jack's picks.  He didn't resist.  He hadn't been trying to pick the locks; not yet.  Bannon's light touch travelled up his arms to his rolled-up sleeves.

     "They're not there," Jack mumbled against the floor.  Bannon finished a brusque double-check, then moved his hands to Jack's waistband.  "Ooh," the captain simpered.  "Lower... lower....  Inside," he suggested.

     Bannon did his best to ignore him and do a pragmatic search.  He did slip his hands into the captain's back pockets, but only came out with a wallet.  He tossed it aside.  Well, at least he didn't empty it first.

     "Check my front pockets," Jack insisted, wiggling his hips.

     "You can't reach them."

     "You never know!"  He felt Bannon's palms brushing over his backside.  "Really, you need to reach inside if you want to find anything good!"  He knew his encouragements would probably only lead to the elf stopping in disgust.  But no.  Bannon was a professional.  Jack closed his eyes because he didn't know if he could get the elf to run his hands over his ass ever again.  And... his inseam.  He _was_ thorough.  Jack was so glad he decided to let the elves torture him.  They had to play this game more often!

     Bannon found a small pick in his waistband and a handy wire in the outside seam.  He used the pick on the handcuffs, and Jack wondered if the game was over.  But no, the elf only released the stop so he could click the cuffs tighter, until they cut into Jack's wrists.  The bastard.

     Zevran released Jack's neck and pulled his head up with one hand on his chin, the other in his hair.  Bannon looped the other bootlace around his throat and yanked it tight.  Jack coughed slightly, but it didn't make the elf relent.  He tied the other end snugly around the handcuff chain.

     The elves got up.  Jack twisted to lay his cheek on the floor and looked up at them.  "What now?  You're not leaving me here!"  He twisted his legs.  The bootlace cut into his skin.

     Zevran looked at Bannon.  The thief said, "Oh, after getting all bloody and sweaty, I think we need a nice hot shower."

     "Ooh!"  Zevran's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.  "A nice, _long_ one," he said, emphasizing his words by sliding his hand over Bannon's hip and down his thigh.

     "Two, even" the thief said with a grin.  "But don't worry, we'll be back when we're done."

     "Hey!"  They turned and walked out.  "Hey, you can't leave me here!" Jack called, putting just a bit of pitiful desperation into his voice.  " _Hey!_ "  No, they were definitely gone.

     Jack sighed and rested a moment.  He had to give Bannon high marks for his due diligence in searching for the picks, but he'd made one fatal mistake.  
  
     Never leave a Time Agent with his wrist strap.  
  


 

  
  
     Jack slipped quietly into the lavatory and approached the showers.  He hadn't bothered re-lacing his boots; in fact, he'd taken them off.  His bare feet would be stealthier.  He could hear the shower going full blast-- good.  The better to confound those sensitive elven ears.

     He crept closer.  The elves' clothes were laid out on the bench in various degrees of neatness.  There was also a pair of towels folded in a pile.  When he reached them, he could just about see into the shower bay.  Steam wafted out from it.

     He craned his neck slowly.  Oh yes, they were in there, standing entwined.  Zevran's back was to him, covered in a satiny cascade of wet blond hair.  His ponytail and braids were undone; he had a magnificent mane that stopped just above his round buttocks.  Black tattoos arched over his hip, around his flank.  They created abstract tribal designs over the right side of his torso and his right arm.  His bronze skin was marred here and there by bruises Jack had inflicted on him.

     Jack glanced down at the fluffy clean towels and decided to steal one.  He grabbed the top one, then froze as a motion caught his eye.  Bannon's hand appeared on Zevran's shoulder.  It slid slowly down over the round deltoid, drops of water pattering on and between the fingers.  It continued over the swell of the bicep.

     The elves moved as if slow dancing.  Zevran turned in slightly, and now Jack could see Bannon's head of dark hair, slicked down by the water.  Bannon's head was tucked into the crook of Zevran's neck.  A stripe of black mingled with the blond over Zevran's shoulder.  They were both veiled in long hair as the water cascaded over them.

     Bannon's hand slid around Zevran's back.  Two fingers passed behind the blond curtain and slowly drew down the strands, pulling them into a loose ribbon as Bannon caressed his lover.

     His hand roved lower, over the crest of Zevran's hip.  His fingers spread over the broad curve of Zevran's buttock... squeezed... and released.  Ripples of water sheeting over the bronze skin changed course with the motion.  They rolled over and down Bannon's fingers.

     Jack was so entranced, he almost didn't notice the strange weight of the towel he was pulling.  He stopped just in time and unfolded it to discover the elves' daggers.  Wetting his lips, he placed the weapons on top of the other towel.

     He clutched his prize to his stomach and returned his gaze to the shower.  Bannon had both hands on Zevran's ass now, gliding across the water-slicked skin.  His hands trailed upwards as Zevran bent lower to suck at Bannon's left nipple.  No....  Jack peered closer.  He was licking, or toying with something.  Maybe Bannon had a ring just like Zevran's.  One only Zevran was allowed to touch.

     Bannon leaned back, a quiet moan carrying through the patter of the shower.  Zevran worked his way lower, kissing and sucking at the smooth skin over Bannon's sculpted abs.  Jack ducked back, just in case Bannon opened his eyes.  He didn't want to be seen.  Not yet, anyway; that would ruin everything.

     Judging by the lustful moan that came from Bannon's throat, he needn't have worried.  A lover who could elicit that sound was one who commanded your whole attention.

     Jack circled around a row of lockers that stood in an island in the middle of the room and quickly shucked his clothes.  Although he couldn't see the elves, it was quite clear what was going on.  Bannon was apparently a moaner.  _Nice._   Jack stroked himself, eyes half-closed, hips swaying slowly.  He imagined making the elf moan like that.  He remembered Zevran's hot and very talented mouth on him.

     In another few minutes, Bannon's orgasmic cry echoed through the lavatory.  Jack took a few deep breaths.  He didn't want to finish just yet.

     Then he heard Zevran say something.  Something about being in a shower, so could they do the other thing?  Jack's ears perked up.  What was this other thing?  Curiosity would eat him alive.  So with his trusty towel in one hand, and himself in the other, he tiptoed to the far end of the locker row.  He put his back to the cold steel doors and leaned precariously, trying to see around the corner.  From here, he should be able to see directly into the shower bay.  Unfortunately, he'd be in line of sight with any elves looking out.  Being seen now would be doubly bad.  Not that he couldn't flee in his condition-- in fact, he had rather more practice in it than any one man ought-- but it was never comfortable.

     Zevran yelped, and Jack stuck his head around the corner.  Both elves had their backs to him.  Good.  He eased into a more comfortable vantage point, leaving sweaty condensation on the metal lockers.

     "Hold still," Bannon was gently admonishing his lover.  "Lean forward more."  He was kneeling behind Zevran, his hair like a cape painted down his back.  Zevran stood, bent forward at the waist.  His hands were on the shower knobs, the old fashioned kind, shaped like a cross with bulbous ends.  His fingers were interlaced around the struts, clutching them so hard, his knuckles were pale under the scrapes.

     If they were doing what Jack thought they were doing, they'd better be careful.  One wrong twist or wrench and both elves would be doused with either scalding hot or freezing cold water.  Yes, that's what they were doing.  Bannon had his hands on the lower swell of Zevran's buttocks, pressing them aside so he could reach the opening with his tongue.  He leaned forward again, and Jack's body tightened in response.  Zevran stifled another yelp, but his whole body twitched, making the water drops on his back dance.

     Zevran cried out and thrashed so bad, Bannon had to wrap one arm around his waist to hold him steady.  Damn, Bannon was ruthless, even in the sexual arena.  He didn't let up on Zevran, but drove the assassin wild with his tongue and one hand.

     Jack stifled a deep-chested groan and thoroughly soiled the elves' towel.  He ducked back out of sight behind the shielding lockers and panted, resting his hands on his knees.  Zevran's shout was even louder than Bannon's.  The acoustics in here were incredible.  Jack knew where he was taking Ianto for their next assignation.  And what they would be doing.  The threat of scalding or chilling nonwithstanding.  
  
  


 

  
     Jack tossed the used towel towards the hamper by the door.  It actually went in this time.  He took another deep breath to steady himself while the elves finished rinsing off in their shower.

     It wasn't clear if they noticed him first or the weapons where the stolen towel had been.  Jack was impressed by their reactions, though.  They didn't bother trying to cover up or hide, they grabbed their daggers.  He just grinned cheekily at them.

     "What the hell?" Bannon snapped.  "How the hell did you get loose?"

     "Tsk!" Jack tsked.  "I've been tied up much worse than that plenty of times.  I know all the tricks!"

     Bannon seethed.  Zevran patted his shoulder.  "At least is all in good fun, no?"

     "And where the hell are your clothes?"

     "Over by my locker."  Jack turned a thumb in that general direction.  He kept on smirking and checking Bannon out.  Nice package, though from seeing Zevran, he'd expected a circumcision.  Even more intriguing though, was the tattoo on his hip, next to the thatch of silky elven pubic hair:  a stylized 'Z' with a crow perched on it.  From the way Zevran always seemed to defer to Bannon (arguments aside), he'd always thought Bannon was the top.  But that was distinctly a mark of ownership, there.  Interesting.

     Jack yanked his eyes back to Bannon's face.  The elf looked ready to kill him, and his face was flushed with rage.  Jack shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, just in case the elf really did go for him.  Bannon suddenly looked aside, and Jack could see the light filtering through his eartips, which were a brilliant scarlet.  Oh...?  And the crimson flush was spreading down his neck and across his chest.  Oh!  Well, damn; didn't the elf know how sexy a full-body blush was?

     And Jack was standing there naked.  If the elf saw him getting aroused... well, hell; he had a knife!  Jack stepped forward confidently and moved past the elves.  "Well, it's time for my shower.  I hope you didn't use up all the hot water."  He stopped and turned before he stepped into the shower bay.  "Oh, hey Bannon."  He waited until the elf turned to look over his shoulder.  "Nice ass!"

     Ah, and such rosy cheeks!

 


	8. Strange Chemistry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What I never thought I would write, what Bannon wishes never happened... he's pregnant. Yeah. Oops. :X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT:  
> Rating: Teen  
> Flavor: Humor/Drama  
> Era: DATW Season 2 (after Gwen's Wedding)  
> B&Z Spoilers: none(ish?)  
> Language: bad  
> Violence: a little  
> Nudity: partial (m)  
> Sex: no, but discussed; innuendos galore  
> Other: mPreg  
> Gratuitous Jack Deaths: 0/0
> 
> Author's Notes:
> 
> Never in a million years did I think I'd write an mPreg thing. I blame my Brain. I was out sick that day! PS: there's not reason this can't be canon to DA:TW. Sorry, Bannon.

**Strange Chemistry**

==#==

 

    "How many times do I have to tell you?" Jack told the two elves for the hundredth time.  "We don't kill the weevils."

    "It tries to kill us, we kill it," Zevran said with a nonchalant shrug.  "Is not our fault."

    "Yes, it is your fault!  Do I have to take your swords and knives away, too?"

    "What are we supposed to do?" Bannon growled.  "Use harsh-- ack!"  Suddenly, he winced in pain and grabbed his stomach.  A shudder ran through him, then he dashed out the door.

    Jack frowned.  That wasn't like the rock-steady elf.  "Is he all right?"

    Zevran shrugged, though he couldn't keep the concern for his lover completely masked.  "He's been sick all morning."

    The captain could sympathize with that, but he wasn't going to let anyone on his team get away with shoddy work, not even medieval elves.  He pulled a sheet of paper from his desk.  "And this," he continued, "is not a proper report.  When are you going to learn to type?"

    "What report?  There was a weevil, we killed it.  What more do you need to know?"  Zevran folded his arms defensively.  "You want typing, Bannon has to do it.  He can type.  He was wounded, so I did it.  You want to wait for him to do it?"

    Jack rubbed his forehead.  Who decided to hire these annoying elves?  Oh, right.  They were going to get remedial training if they kept this up.  He continued interrogating Zevran, trying to get the details out of the assassin.  It was like pulling teeth.  Actually, he might try that on the blasted elf.  And where the hell was his partner in crime?  Did he fake the flux just to escape Jack's office?

    Bannon finally reappeared in the doorway, a line of pain drawn between his brows.  He didn't come in, he just sagged against the doorjamb.  His face went grey.

    " _Amore'!_ "  Zevran jumped up and went to him.  "Are you all right?"

    "I feel...."  Bannon blinked owlishly.  Zevran guided him to a chair as Jack got up and came around the desk.

    "Is it the Taint?" Zevran asked.

    "No.  I feel...."  Tiny beads of sweat broke out on the elf's brow.  He looked at his hands; they were shaking.

    "Sick?" Jack prompted.  "Nauseous?"

    Bannon only shook his head slowly, his eyes going glassy.  "No... just... strange.  Very strange."

    Jack touched the elf's forehead.  His skin was cold and clammy.  An idea began forming in Jack's mind.  "You might be having a hormonal spike," he said calmly.  "Do your nipples feel swollen or tender?"

    "What?"

    Not one to be shy, Zevran groped his partner's chest, eliciting a loud "Ow!"

    "Yeah," said Jack.  "I think you're pregnant."

    "I'm not pregnant!" Bannon insisted.  "I can't be pregnant!"  Indignation brought a bit of colour to his cheeks.  "I--  Oh, I'm going to throw up!"  Saliva poured from his mouth as his body prepared for expulsion.  Jack and Zevran leapt out of the way as the elf bolted back towards the upstairs loo.

    They trotted after him and hovered outside the door while the elf heaved up his guts.  Jack looked at Zevran.  "Yeah, he's pregnant."

    "That's not possible!"

    "You'd be surprised."  Jack bent over the upstairs rail and yelled down.  "Owen!  Get the operating theatre ready for a C-section!"  He turned back to the blond elf.  "Now you see, if you guys had written a full report, we might have known about this before it got this far."

    The sounds of retching stopped for a little while.  Then Bannon cried out in pain.

    " _Amore'!_ "  Zevran burst into the small bathroom to find Bannon hunched over, grabbing his stomach.

    "We have to get him down to the med bay," Jack insisted.  He and the blond elf alternately guided and dragged the stricken elf down to the lower levels of the Hub.  The elf screamed as if something were tearing apart his insides.  Which probably wasn't far from the truth.  Something bulged in his lower abdomen, and it wasn't the good kind of bulge.  Bannon fumbled to unbuckle his belt to relieve the pressure.

    Owen met them at the bottom of the catwalk stairs.  Ianto came up from the archives, his brow creased in concern.  "What's going on?"

    "Rapid onslaught pregnancy," Jack grumbled.  "Get him a hot water bottle or something."

    "Right away!"

    Zevran, Jack, and Owen brought Bannon into the medbay.  Another wave of pain struck Bannon and he curled up in agony.  They heaved him onto the bed, and Owen finished removing his jeans, then got him a blanket.  Bannon gripped Jack's and Zevran's arms as the thing inside him stretched out against his skin.  He ground his teeth in an effort not to scream.  His knuckles went white as he squeezed, and Jack feared for the bones in his arm.  Zevran held his lover's hand and made no complaints.

    "You're going to be all right," Jack reassured him.

    "I hate you," the elf growled.

    "Well, you're hormonal.  That's a natural reaction."

    "I'm going to kill you."  The elf rolled his eyes to his silent partner.  "Zevran, you're my assassin.  Kill him."

    "Right away, _mi amore'_.  Soon as you are safe."

    Ianto arrived with a hot pack.  He lifted Bannon's shirt and put it on the bulge in his stomach.  Meanwhile, Owen had out the Bekaran scanner.  Jack sidled around (as far as he could with the elf's deathgrip on his arm) to look at the readout.

    "Hard to make out what it is, at this stage," Owen muttered, peering closely.

    Jack said, "Ianto, find the weevil corpse they brought in last night.  Maybe it can tell us what's gotten into-- OW!"  Another wave of pain rolled over the elf, causing him to dig his fingers into Jack's arm.  Or maybe it was just the pun.  Hard to say.

    "Can't you give me something for the pain?" Bannon panted.

    "We don't know how that might affect it," Owen said, not looking up from the scanner.

    Jack said, "We need you coherent, so you can let us know what's going on."

    "I'll tell you what's going on, it's grow-- AUGH!"  His back arched.  "Oh Maker!  Just knock me out!" he screamed when he regained some control.  "It hurts!"

    "Now who's a wuss?  Women go through labor for much longer than this."  Jack probably shouldn't have goaded him, but how could he resist?  Bannon let go of Zevran's hand and pulled on Jack's arm.  The captain didn't realize what he was doing until he reared up and sank his teeth into Jack's wrist.  Jack screamed.  And he kept on screaming; Bannon was using the bones in his wrist like the proverbial bullet to bite.

    This round went on for what seemed like several minutes.  Finally, Bannon fell back, panting and exhausted.  Jack cradled his arm.  His throat was raw.  "Most people in this situation blame the guy who's been shagging them!"  He shot a pointed glare at Zevran.  The blond elf ignored him.  He'd moved to rubbing Bannon's temples, and murmuring encouragement to him.

    "You'll want disinfectant for that," Owen commented.

    "I'm fine," Jack said, still glaring at the elves.  "It'll heal in a minute."

    "We still don't know what it is," the doctor said mildly.  "Or how it's spreading.  He might have just impregnated you."

    "Shit!"  Jack ransacked the cabinet for the peroxide.

    "I hope you do get pregnant, you pain in the ass shem!"

    "How is this my fault?"

    "Everything is your fault!"  Bannon writhed again, knocking the hot pack to the floor.

    "Try to hold still," Owen said.

    "You're next on my death list," the elf threatened.

    "Look at me," the doctor said, taking his attention off the scanner a moment.  "Bannon, I need you to breathe.  In through your nose, out through your mouth.  Just concentrate on that."  The elf's breathing was loud in the med bay.  "That's good, just keep on, nice and steady."  Owen ran the scanner over him again.

    Ianto returned with the dead weevil, and Jack helped him roll the gurney into the bay.  Tosh and Gwen came in; they looked down at the commotion from the observation level.  "What's going on?" Gwen asked.

    Owen said, "Bannon's trying to impregnate Jack."

    "What?" said Gwen and Toshiko.

    " _What?_ " said Ianto.

    Zevran just snorted.  Bannon quit trying to breathe and concentrated more on suppressing another scream.  His stomach was growing noticeably distended under the blanket.

    "That's just Owen's idea of a joke," Jack growled.  "Bannon's pregnant."

    "Oh," said Gwen, taking it in stride of course.  "Is it one of those things that got me?  Just use the singularity scalpel."

    "Hell no," squealed the stricken elf.  "Not unless Rhys comes to use it; he's the only one who can do it without killing the patient!"

    "Oy!  Are you disparaging my medical proficiency?"

    Jack handed Ianto a set of scrubs.  "Come on, Owen; we've all seen you trying to use that thing."

    Ianto frowned at the clothes.  "You want me to do the autopsy?"

    "I'm a little busy with a live patient right now, Tea-boy," Owen said.  "All you have to do is slice open a dead weevil."

    Jack patted the greenish-looking Ianto on the shoulder.  "It'll be good experience for you."  He, himself, made sure to get out of range of any splash damage that might occur.  He returned to the far side of Bannon's bed, just out of reach.  The elf had a roll of the blanket clenched in one white-knuckled fist.  Zevran still massaged his temples in an effort to relieve some of the pain.

    "All right," Owen said.  "It's got feeders threaded into his liver and small intestine.  It seems to be pulling nutrients from there and his bloodstream."

    "So we can't take it out?" Jack asked.

    "Ain't that always the way?"

    "Can you at least give him a spinal block?"

    "He's not going to be able to give us early warning if it starts doing something," the doctor said pragmatically.  "I'll inject a local to the site.  That should help some."

    "If it is using his blood," Zevran said, "it will become Tainted, no?"

    "Will the Taint kill it?" Bannon asked hopefully.

    "What does this Taint usually do?" Jack asked.

    Zevran pursed his lips.  "Well... Tainted animals are usually rather... spiky."  Bannon groaned.

    "Yeah," Jack agreed.  "This could be bad."

 

==#==

 

    Ianto discovered the spiked pod in the weevil's abdomen that had 'stabbed' Bannon when the creature jumped him.  Jack went through the archives to look up the species.  And how to remove it.  Fortunately, the prognosis was fairly good.

    Bannon half-dozed under the effects of the anesthetic after being wrung out with pain all morning.  They had him properly hooked up to the monitors now.  Owen had also plugged in a nutrient drip, since the hyxlena was draining his body.  Also, in preparation for the surgery and post-op, he had Toshiko draw blood from Zevran.

    Jack had called this 'rapid onslaught pregnancy,' but that term was relative.  Once the thing was plugged into Bannon's internal organs, it sucked down nutrients and grew.  This took several hours.

    "It should grow to about 24 centimeters," Jack told Owen.  "Then its carapace will harden and the mouth will extend.  Can you tell which way the mouth is facing?"

    Owen frowned at the Bekaran scanner.  "I don't even know what part is the mouth."

    Jack peered over his shoulder.  "There... between the third and fourth limbs.  Looks like it's facing inward.  That's not so good."

    "What significance is that?" the doctor asked.

    "Ah, when the mouth extends... well, that's how it gets out."

    Bannon's eyes popped open.  "Excuse me?"

    "It'll be fine," Jack assured him quickly.  "Once the carapace hardens, we can pull it out in one piece."

    "Will these tendrils be retracted by then?" Owen asked.

    "There's a good chance of that."

    "A good chance?" both elves blurted.

    "Hey, a really good chance!"

    "Come closer so I can kill you before I die."

    Jack looked indulgently at Bannon.  "Now, think positively.  You survive; then you can kill me."

    "Zevran, kill him for me."

    "Several times, _mi amore'_.  A great many times, and in a great many imaginative ways, you have my word."

 

==#==

 

    At last the end drew near.  Owen and Toshiko scrubbed for the operation; she would be assisting him.  Jack would handle the anesthesia under Owen's direction.  He and Zevran, who would not leave his lover's side, also wore surgical masks.

    Jack looked down at the elf.  "All right," he said calmly; "I'm going to put this over your nose and mouth.  The gas will make you fall asleep, so you don't feel anything.  Don't worry, just breathe normally."

    Bannon nodded, and looked to Zevran.  Zevran held his hand while Jack applied the breath mask.  The flow was at a minimum until the scanner showed the hyxlena withdraw its tendrils.  Or, at worst, start to extend its mouth.

    The elf's dark eyes drifted half closed.  Then he started mumbling sleepily.  "It's snowing," he said, his voice muffled by the breath mask.  "Zevran?"

    Zevran leaned close.  "I'm here, _amore'_."

    "Will you stay and watch with me?  It's so pretty...."

    "Yes, of course."

    "I wish we could stay here forever."  Bannon squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back.  "Zevran... I don't want to die."

    "You're not going to die, lover.  Everything will be fine."

    "I don't want to be Tainted."  His voice started to slur.  "I don't want the darkspawn to take me."

    "I won't let that happen," Zevran said quietly.

    "You'll kill me first, won't you?"

    Zevran seemed unable to answer.  Jack bit his lip; he really shouldn't be eavesdropping on this conversation.  He looked at the gauge on the machine.  The elves seemed constantly on the lookout for anything that might cure their Taint.  Jack hadn't known why; it made them stronger, it allowed them to sense each other's presence and work flawlessly together, it gave them heightened healing abilities.  But the fact remained that it was slowly killing them, turning them into monsters.

    When Zevran didn't say anything, Bannon kept mumbling on.  "I know you don' want to... be respons'ble again.  Jus'... I trust you.  I know you'll be strong....  Prom's me?"

    "I will," Zevran whispered.  "We'll go together.  This I swear."

    Jack glanced up at the uncharacteristic hitch in the elf's voice.  His amber eyes leaked tears.  Bannon's face was wet as well.  Zevran gently wiped those tears away, his hand brushing Jack's where the captain held the breath mask in place.

    "Jack, increase by point five," Owen called from the other end of the bed.  The captain adjusted the flow, and Bannon fell slowly into a deeper sleep.

 

==#==

 

    "Okay, Tosh," Owen told his teammate; "As soon as you see the carapace, grab it."

    The hyxlena looked a lot like a lobster tail, with overlapping back plates.  Its segmented legs and retracted mouth tube were curled under it.  The doctor cut the incision vertically down the thing's spine, not really concerned if the blade hit it.  The distended skin peeled open readily, exposing the creature.  Tosh clamped down on it with a large pair of forceps and began pulling it back.

    "Hang on, Tosh; the lower tendrils haven't retracted yet."

    "Where's its mouth?"

    "Try to twist it around; I can't see it yet."

    "Look out!" Jack yelled.  Without thinking, he dropped the anesthesia rig and shoved his hand at the hyxlena's extending mouth.  He didn't so much as grab it as it grabbed him.  The circular mouth latched onto his palm and the teeth began grinding into his flesh.  He clamped his jaw shut and tried not to pull back.

    "Well this is unhygienic!" the doctor complained as Jack started bleeding on his patient.  "Zevran, get the anesthesia and put it back on Bannon!"

    The elf scrambled to obey.  "Don't worry, lover, these people are much more competent than they appear!"

    Tosh grabbed another pair of forceps and seized the hyxlena's mouth tube just below where it was latched onto Jack.  She pinched it viciously, trying to get it to let go.  "Ow!" the captain complained.  The hyxlena's chewing action was only meant to go in one direction.   _Through_.

    "Well, Harkness, I hope you don't have it aimed up your whole arm," Owen growled.  He kept himself hunched over his patient.  The last tendrils suddenly retracted.  "Take it!  Go go; get out of the way!"

    Tosh and Jack stood up, still holding the hyxlena between them over Bannon's limp body.  Owen tried his best to ignore their crazy dance moves as they got clear.  He applied more clamps to Bannon's bleeding innards and set about repairing the tears in the small intestine.  "Just keep that mask in place, Zevran," he called without looking up.  So far, the vital monitors weren't making any warning beeps.

    Jack and Tosh got over to the side table.  Jack grabbed the thing on his arm and pinned it down while Tosh looked for something to cut the hyxlena's mouth off of him.  The scalpels were too small and weak to penetrate the chitin rings protecting the tube.

    "Tosh," Zevran said to her, "get my dagger."

    The tech ran over behind Zevran and pulled the blade from his belt.  She returned and brought it down hard with both hands on the bloody alien beast.  Blue-black blood oozed out, and the hyxlena's legs wiggled wildly.  Tosh grabbed it with the forceps again and wrestled it into the archive box they had prepared for it.  She sealed it up and breathed a sigh of relief.  Then she hurried back to Jack, who was trying to extract the end of the mouth that had its teeth embedded in his flesh.

    "Jack," Owen called, "I need you back on the anesthesia."  He could tell Bannon wasn't under deep enough.  Sure, the elf was a pain in the ass, but Owen didn't want to torture him.  It was going to take a lot of stitches to get him closed up.

 

==#==

 

    "Well," Owen said after the whole mess was over.  "If he were a normal person, I'd say he needed two weeks to heal up.  But with this Grey Warden healing thing he has going on... I don't know.  Especially since he has to be on a liquid diet for a while."

    Bannon groaned, and blinked blearily.  Zevran was instantly close by his side.  "How do you feel, lover?"

    "Ugh."

    "Well, you will be happy to know, it looked just like me!"  Zevran grinned.

    "What the fuck?"  Bannon just goggled stupidly at him.  The assassin sighed.

    "And don't be making him laugh," Owen harped.  "We don't need him popping any stitches."

    "When can we have sex?"

    "Oh for--!"  Owen palmed his face.  "No sex!  Not until I give him a clean bill of health."

    Bannon frowned.  "But can't we just--?"

    "No!  You have 37 stitches in your abdomen-- and that's just on the outside!  The incisions have to heal.  So no," the doctor emphasized.  "No pelvic thrusting.  No... having one's pelvis thrusted.  No ograsms!"

    "But I'm so horny," Bannon whined.

    "It's the hormones," Jack said, strolling over with an insufferable grin on his face.

    "Aren't you dead?"  Bannon looked at his partner.  "Didn't you kill him?"

    " _Si_ , of course I did.  But... you know."

    "He killed me many times, in many imaginative ways," Jack assured the elf smugly.

    "What about oral sex?" Bannon asked the doctor, ignoring the captain.  "Can't I at least--?"

    "No!"

    "Why not?"

    "Because," Owen explained with quickly evaporating patience, "that will only lead to more sex.  And what did I just say?"

    Zevran jumped in.  "Can I play with his... mm?"  He pointed at Bannon's chest.

    Bannon frowned.  Then he picked up the blankets and the top of his hospital gown to peer down.  "Holy Maker!" he cried in anguish.  "I have tits!"

    "Those will go away in a few days," Jack assured him.

    Bannon flung the covers up over his head and scrunched down.  "Go away!  I hate you all!"

    Zevran started to protest, but Jack shook his head at a him.  "We should really do what he says.  He's... you know."

    "Hormonal?"

    "Mm-hm!  You know," Jack told Zevran as they left the med bay, "this should make you really appreciate what you have."

    "What's that?"

    "A relationship with a man."

    They came out into the Hub proper.  Ianto looked over.  "Did you just make a horribly sexist remark?"

    "Me?  The epitome of 51st-century sexual equality?"  Jack looked aghast.

    Too late.  Gwen and Tosh scented blood in the water.  "What did you say then?" Gwen insisted.

    "He said I should be glad Bannon is a man and n--!"  Jack clamped a hand over the elf's big mouth.

    "I said, that all men should go through pregnancy at least once!  Just... you know, so they know what women have to put up with."

 == _X_ ==

**Author's Note:**

> End Notes:
> 
> 1000 Bloodsong Points if you recognized the "Don't get excited" exchange from 'The Empire Strikes Back.'
> 
> 5000 Bloodsong Points if you know where the stiff leather belt joke is from... especially since I'm not sure. I *think* it's from 'Ice Pirates.'
> 
> PS: You know, after Gordon and Jim's leap of faith into the Pit of Infernal Muck, I don't recall them being muddy as they have this argument in the ravine. Score a point for me for realism!


End file.
